A Hundred Pieces of Colored Cloth
by ThurinRanger
Summary: 100 little flash-fictions, each inspired by one of the prompts for the 100 drabble challenge. No warnings, unless indicated specifically for a certain drabble. On many of Tolkien's Middle Earth works, but mainly the Silmarillion. DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. Current chapter: Painting:In Tol Galen
1. Sunset:Turin on Beleg

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING(this disclaimer applies to all further chapters of this ****work)**

**Hi guys! So, these are 100 ****drabbles(not really, just short pieces, I'm not real big into the word count rules), each one inspired by one of the 100 drabble prompts for the 100 drabble challenge. The title of each one is that prompt. NirCele is currently doing this as well, she is the one who inspired me to do this, so please go and check out hers! These are on any or Tolkien's Middle Earth works, the Silmarillion, LOTR, etc.**

**Please review, I hope you enjoy!**

**Sunset**

Beleg always used to love watching the sunset.

Turin remembered sitting perched in the trees with the him, barely thirteen, nestled in the elf's protective, warm arms.

They had watched together as the sky turned lavender, pink, dark purple, and soft crimson over the dark silhouettes of the tall trees.

"Beleg, I love you." Turn had told him, and Beleg had squeezed him, and he had never felt so safe in all his life.

Turin remembered laying next to Beleg on the bare top of Amon Rudh, splayed out in the short coarse winter grass, breathing in the full dome view of a cloudless, treeless horizon and sky. It was a soft light pink and gold around the edges, with a dark mix of blues and purples above.

They had lain there in companionable silence, for Turin no longer needed to reassure Beleg of how much he loved him, because they both knew, and no words needed to be spoken.

Turin remembered these things as he sat on his knees before the Pools of Ivrin, gazing at the brilliant sunset spanning the sky, reflected on the water. He squeezed an imaginary hand, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Beleg there beside him.


	2. First Word:Maglor and Elros

**First Word**

"Ada! Ada!" Elrond cried in his sleep, face creased in disappointment and fear as he reached out for something that wasn't there. Maglor moved to comfort the little boy, but in another moment he was calm again, lost in a serene dream.

"That was his first word." Elros said quietly from where he was lying by the fire next to his brother.

Maglor glanced up, surprised that the little boy had been awake all this time.

"Did he love his adar very much?" the poet asked, poking the fire idly with a stick.

"He left before we were born." Elros replied, a certain bitterness in his voice Maglor had not heard before.

"Maybe someday he will come back for you."

"He won't. He can never come back, nana told us." Elros sighed, gazing longingly in the direction of the sea.

There was a long silence, and Maglor thought Elros was finally asleep when the boy spoke softly again.

"Naneth cried when he said that, his first word. That was the first time we ever saw her cry. I can never forgive him for that."

Maglor remembered watching in horror as Elwing threw herself from the cliff, silmaril clutched desperately to her breast.

"I am sure they are both still out there, somewhere." Maglor lied, ruffling the boy's dark hair half-heartedly.

Elros gazed up at the lonely stars, and did not say anything more.


	3. Deadline:On Erestor

**Deadline**

Deadlines.

The tip of Erestor's quill pen flew across the page, but it was not fast enough.

Deadlines.

So many deadlines.

Deadlines were his life.

Everything he did had a deadline, and he would never, never miss a deadline.

He could hardly have a good time anymore, with all the deadlines pressing down on him from the back of his mind like guilt. Why did everything have to have a deadline?

Glancing up at the clock he began writing even faster, growing panicked. Suddenly he knocked over his inkwell with his haste, and before he could catch it the important papers covering his desk were soaked.

Sighing, he lay his over-worked head down on his desk in defeat without thinking about the spreading ink-puddle below.

Maybe he could just miss one deadline, just this once?

As he felt the cold liquid seep onto his scalp, he wondered how he would ever get all this ink out of his hair. Maybe nobody would notice, he did have black hair after all.

Glorfindel would definitely notice.

Erestor sighed in frustration, walking over to the open window and proceeding to wring his hair out into the window-box below, dying the once light-blue and yellow flowers below black and grey.

All these deadlines would be the death of him!


	4. Breaking the Habit:Feanor and Ambarussa

**Breaking the Habit**

"Nerdanel, this madness must cease! I insist you give each of our twin sons their own names!" Feanor pleaded, clasping his wife's hands beseechingly.

"You know that even if I do, they will never stop calling each other Ambarussa." she smirked, putting a hand on her kneeling husband's dark head.

"I cannot stand it another moment! I can never tell which is which, my youngest sons will have no sense of identity." he moaned as if watching his life crumble before his eyes.

"Fine. I shall rename them."

"Anything but Ambarussa!" Feanor cried passionately, finding his wife suddenly more attractive than she ever had looked.

At the sound of their name, two identical russet-topped heads appeared around the doorway.

"Yes, ada?"

"You called us?"

"Ai! We must break this habit now!"

"Umbarto." Nerdanel decided suddenly, interrupting Feanor's exclamations over his two terrified sons.

"What?" he queried, glancing up in surprise.

"Umbarto, The Fated. That shall be one of their names."

Feanor looked from his son, Umbarto, to his triumphant wife, and back again.

"Of all the names you could have chosen, Umbarto?" he cried in dismay, realizing that his wife might just have birthed too many little boys for her own good as disturbing images involving his beloved son flashed before his eyes.

"You pick. Umbarto or Ambarussa."

"He shall be named _A_mbarto. Then I think the Ambarussa habit will be easier to break." Feanor sighed in defeat, leading his twin sons, both addressing each other as Ambarussa, away.

**Amrod and Amras were Feanor's last two sons(identical twins at that). When they were born, their mother, Nerdanel, named them both Ambarussa(which basically means red-haired). Feanor insisted they each have their own names, so she named Amrod Umbarto, the fated. Feanor, disturbed, changed this to Ambarto. ****Unfortunately**** the name Umbarto was in fact prophetic, and Amrod was ****accidentally**** killed in the burning of the ships at Losgar, the first of Feanor's seven sons to meet his end. Although they were renamed the twins called each other Ambarussa for the rest of their lives(poor Feanor, foiled again)**


	5. Murderer:Estel and Elladan

**Murderer **

"You're a murderer!" Estel screamed in horror, pointing an accusing finger at a very sheepish Elladan.

"Now now, Estel, do not carry on so." Elladan entreated the little boy as he began to cry, refusing to let Elladan touch him as the older twin attempted to comfort the young mortal.

"Orcs are evil, Estel, they like to eat bunnies and deer." Elrohir tried to explain, for the first time in his life feeling rather guilty over the Orc heads slung over Elladan's shoulder they had both recently won in the Orc-hunting expedition they had just returned from. The twins hadn't meant for the little boy to see the grisly Orc remains they had dragged back for Glorfindel to admire and complement them on, but he had came running up the hill un-looked for just as they were emerging from the trees.

"What is going on here?" the famed Balrog-slayer himself called with concern, hurrying over to discover the cause of Elrond's foster-son's shrieks.

"Elladan's a murderer!" Estel cried, fleeing to Glorfindel and burying his face in the light blue robes draped over the tall Elf's body.

With one glance at the situation, the Orc heads, the two identical guilty faces, the sobbing little boy, Glorfindel explained:

"Estel, little one, you must understand, Orcs are cruel and would kill little boys like you if they could, Elladan and Elrohir are protecting you because they love you, by killing them first."

Estel sniffed, somewhat comforted, before protesting:

"But they were living things too! It is wrong to kill, Glorfy, Elladan and Elrohir both know that. But I suppose I can forgive them." he sighed, casting the twins a look reminiscent of a mother disappointed in her children.

"Quite right, Estel. Now, Gilraen said something this morning about cookies-"

"First one there gets first pick!" Estel squealed in delight, Orc heads forgotten as he tore down the hill towards the Last Homely House, Glorfindel close behind.

The twins sighed audibly in relief.

"He will make quite a king someday." Elrohir remarked as they began searching for an out of the way place to burn the Orc heads before they met with anyone else.


	6. Gems and Jewels:On Nerdanel

**Gems and Jewels**

Feanor took only a few of the fine jewels he had made and possessed with him to Middle Earth. No, he and his seven sons left many treasures behind.

Nerdanel stood day after day in the small field behind the home she had once shared with such a large family, among the great cold blocks of marble now devoid of any small boys, watching from their stony seats as their mother carved figures from the white blocks, enraptured as they watched the rough rock come alive.

Nerdanel steadied her callused hand, shifting the pike carefully to sit exactly where she wanted it, bringing down the mallet, chipping off another small piece.

She let out a huff of air, blowing a lock of thick dark brown hair out of her eyes, ignoring the marble-dust sprinkled over it like flour.

Feanor had insisted she abstain from her statue work during her many pregnancies, much to her chagrin. Other than the sudden oaths and going to Middle Earth, which there hadn't really been time to counsel him against anyway for it had all happened much too quickly, it had been the only decision of his that she had disagreed with, but had failed to sway his heart with by means of her insistent counsel.

She smiled at the memory, sighing softly as she laid her tools down on a stump located nearby for that very purpose, before raising her eyes to the eight statues standing poised before her, captured in graceful motion, and she barely stifled a gasp.

They looked as if they were almost breathing, white marble statues, shining in the sunlight, the gems and jewels she had set in the marble as their eyes glittering as if they really saw.

She had extracted Maedhros' from a ring he used to wear for the longest time, given to him by Fingon as a gift. The two were such good friends, though Nerdanel had not been there when the friendship her oldest talked of so often was formed. She had taken Celegorm's from an old collar Curufin had made him for Huan, and the gems in Maglor's eyes were once in a hair ornament from which he had taken great joy from wearing in his youth.

She hadn't made a statue of Feanor. It pained her too deeply, and she could never get him just right. She would cry out in exasperation after hours of the heart-wrenching work, cleaving the statue's head in two in defeat, never getting the nose quite right, or the way his hair sat on his head and brushed his shoulders.

She knew her husband and sons were never coming back, but she still needed these lifelike marble echoes of them to keep her large lonely house from becoming too empty. To keep her heart from utter loneliness.

To keep herself from being completely consumed by regret.


	7. Friends Forever:Maedhros and Fingon

**Friends Forever**

"Hello Fingolfin." Feanor greeted his half-brother coldly, a false smile adorning his features.

"Feanor! I have missed you." Fingolfin cried, a much more friendly smile on his face as he embraced the creator of the Silmarils, who, to his credit, barely flinched.

Fingon, standing behind his father, smiled shyly at Maedhros who stood beside Feanor, as they caught each other's eye.

Maedhros drew him to the side as the group began to disperse, and he whispered mischievously:

"Our fathers do not seem to be overfond of each other."

"Aye, your father seems to think ill of mine." Fingon agreed, running a pale slender hand through his long dark hair as it got in the way of his vision.

"I certainly hope that does not mean their sons must also be at strife." Maedhros ventured as the two half-cousins began to saunter off in the direction of a large open field together.

"Certainly not! All I hope is that you are fond of pie, our cook has three currently cooling on the windowsill, ripe for the filching."

Three pies, two friendly wrestling matches, and one embarrassing and memorable encounter with a group of bathing elf-maids later, the two sat resting in the refreshing shade of a great tree, Maedhros resolutely taking care of Fingon's thick hair once and for all with intricate plaits and golden thread, while his new friend sang a song he had just recently learned to the plucking of his delicate harp. Maedhros was picky about music, living with Maglor always glued to your side would make anyone that way, but somehow, Fingon's occasionally wavering voice and mis-notes seemed just right.

**For this drabble the song Fingon is singing to Maedhros is the one he later sings when rescuing him from Thangorodrim, for those who wish to know the inner workings of my mind. :) Reviews are always nice too...**


	8. On the Brink:On Glorfindel and Erestor

**oook, this one got a little bit long for flash fiction, but hey! Who cares! **

**Note: this is not meant as Glorfindel/Erestor slash, though may be interpreted as such if the reader so desires it. I wrote this as close friendship, but am not against slash and would not be offended if you took is as such. :))**

**On the Brink**

"And," concluded Erestor, neatly packing the stacked papers together with his pale hands so that no corners stuck out of place, "tomorrow we can make the rounds on horseback as usual to document the current situations and general prosperity of Imladris' population."

"But Erestor!" Glorfindel whined, feeling his bandaged side gingerly as he spoke, "I am still badly wounded, how can you expect me to get on a horse!"

"You will be fine, Glorfindel." Erestor replied dismissively, pulling out a new crisp white sheet of paper and beginning to cover it with his elegant, flowing script.

"But what if I had died? I might have, you know. But you kept your pretty little nose stuck in some book somewhere, you wouldn't have known of my suffering and close call with Mandos." Glorfindel protested bitterly, for his wound was truly no laughing matter, ruffling the fur on Erestor's cat's compliant head for emphasis.

"But you did not die, Glorfindel, you cannot die." Erestor sighed as if explaining a a simple fact to a confused elfling, not even lifting his eyes from his work.

"Of course I can die, Erestor! I have died once before, and I can certainly do it again." he grumbled, not noticing as Erestor's writing became nonsense, his flowing script became illegible, his eyes lost their focus.

The horrible memories flooded in before Erestor could stop them, of that horrible day not a fortnight ago, when Glorfindel had been carried back bloody and unconscious by the surviving members of his patrol in the middle of the night, as he had been rushed to the healing ward.

_"__Let me in! Let me see him! What is the matter with him, what are you not telling me? Let me in, I must see him! I must!" Erestor cried frantically, his voice rising higher in pitch and in volume with every word as he pushed through the bustle of anxious healers and into the room in which they had lain the hero of Imladris. _

_Erestor was suddenly silent, and a small gasp escaped him as he saw Glorfindel, Glorfindel the invincible, Glorfindel the unbeatable, Glorfindel the protector of others lying unconscious on the cot, his golden hair spread out in disarray about his deathly pale face, the face that always held so much joy and will to live. He barely breathed, and there was blood everywhere. _

_Too much blood._

_The healers had given up._

"Erestor," Glorfindel ventured quietly, head turned away, focusing intently on the wash-basin sitting at the other side of the room, "would you have been sad if I had died?"

The pen stopped its meaningless scribble completely, Erestor gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white.

_"__Glorfindel! No, please, you cannot die! You cannot leave me here alone! Please!" Erestor choked, his usually carefully controlled voice becoming so raw with emotion that it sounded as if it might break as he gently brushed the bloodied hair from the unnaturally pale face, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his entire life. _

_Elrond stood, a shadow in the doorway, watching sadly as the usually reserved advisor laid his head down on Glorfindel's chest in defeat, quaking with gut-wrenching sobs._

_He wondered if there would be more than one life lost for Glorfindel's valiant deeds which had saved so many, but would hurt so many more if the elf lord could not make it through the night._

"Oof!" Glorfindel gasped, the air being knocked out of him as he was body-slammed by Erestor, who was clinging to him desperately in the manner of a baby being wrenched from his mother, small body shaking against Glorfindel's own.

A choked sob escaped the advisor, and Glorfindel held him close, leaning his face down into Erestor's soft dark hair.

Elrond stood, a shadow in the doorway, smiling as Erestor made Glorfindel promise never to be so foolish and valiant ever again.

**Please review!**


	9. Inner Beauty:On a thin yet valiant girl

**Hey guys! Gosh...these "****drabbles" are turning more into oneshots...**

**Ok, small WARNING for this one: This one contains mild suggestive materiel, very mild, probably K+ - T, but probably not even T, nothing dirty or ****explicit.**** If this is still not your cup of tea, then feel free to skip, :)))**

**Inner Beauty**

"She is at it again, Glorfindel." Erestor sighed from where he was working, busily scribbling away over countless parchments.

Glorfindel looked up from his work, narrowing his eyes so as to see more clearly through the unrelenting snowstorm, a blizzard that kept most of Imladris' inhabitants indoors.

A short and thin elleth could be seen stumbling through that snowdrifts, fighting valiantly against the violent wind whipping her to and fro.

"I bet she does not even have woolen underwear on." Glorfindel sighed in defeat as he watched her, putting down his pen and shaking his head regretfully.

"At least she has on her cloak, that is certainly an improvement from last time." Erestor remarked, wincing slightly as she was battered into a little fence with a small cry of alarm before righting herself nevertheless and continuing on, set on catching the post.

"I have never before in both of my entire lives met such a headstrong girl, she will certainly kill herself one of these days, she is so stubborn about delivering her letter every week like she promised, I even told her that though she will get it to the messenger, he will not be able to go through this gale. She cares not."

"She must miss her family and friends, or what is left of them anyway, in Mirkwood very much, and it is admirable how gallantly she is fulfilling her promise. But really, you should try to persuade her to take better care of herself."

"Believe me, I have."

As Erestor bent back over his work, Glorfindel watched the small elleth quietly, her thin form looking so fragile as it was tossed back and forth, yet somehow it did not break.

"Erestor, I do believe that she has stolen your title of skinniest elf in Imladris." Glorfindel smirked after watching her for a few more minutes, gazing down at the dark-haired advisor to gauge his reaction.

"I think you are right, she took that esteemed title away from me the moment she arrived."

"She does eat, you know, but she is still so thin, all of her bones stick out, especially her hip and ribs." Glorfindel muttered more to himself than to anyone else as he continued to watch her, unmoving.

Erestor glanced up sharply at this, his countenance having trouble deciding whether to be shocked or humorous.

"Glorfindel, how on Arda would you know about those places of her person!? I thought you to be an honorable elf lord of old!" Erestor snapped, scandalized.

Glorfindel blushed, focusing intently on the windowsill so that his hair dropped down like a curtain over his face, half-hiding his embarrassed expression.

"Erestor, I have certainly not done anything like _that_, it would be far beyond me to dishonor such a lovely and chaste lady before marriage, no matter how in love we be."

"Then how on arda, I ask?"

"We...kissed."

"And?"

"We felt each other a little bit."

Erestor was silent for a few minutes, absorbing this new and drastic information, before asking, "Are you in love with her then?"

"Perhaps,"

"Is there to be a wedding soon?"

"Perhaps,"

"Am I to be invited?"

"Definitely not."

Erestor raised his eyebrows threateningly as Glorfindel began to chuckle.

"I was only joking, Erestor, or course I would invite you! In fact, I should make you my right hand man."

"Then you have given it some thought? Marriage, I mean?"

Glorfindel blushed a deeper shade of pink, a sight rarely to never seen, and took his seat again, picking up his quill pen and beginning to cover the paper in bold and flowing flowers, vines, and other natural sorts of decorations.

"A little, I suppose."

"But Glorfindel, I must know, this is serious business, are you really and truly in love with her? I must admit that I have picked up on the secret looks and winks and things, but I did not know it ran so deep."

"Yes...I suppose-I do not know!" Glorfindel muttered in confusion, flowers becoming more deliberate every moment.

"Do you think she is beautiful? I must say, I have never found women whose skeletons I can feel very attractive." Erestor stated frankly, craning his neck for a better view of her as the wind knocked her over again with a frustrated cry.

"Well _I_ do, I find it very fetching, actually."

"But what do you think of her, as a whole?" Erestor pressed, not about to give up.

"I think she is radiant." Glorfindel whispered quietly, keeping his gaze averted from Erestor's piercing, all-knowing eyes. "I think is like Laurelin, a brilliant celestial light shines through from her, illuminating the world around her, finding a way even through the snow. Her inner beauty has found a way into my heart." he whispered, a small smile creeping over his face as he watched her finally reach the end of her short but perilous journey, handing the letter she had managed to keep close the entire time to the messenger triumphantly.

Erestor smiled.

Yes, there would certainly be a wedding any day now. He had to get out his ceremonial robes and blow off the dust.


	10. Circles of the World:Aegnor and Andreth

**Beyond the Circles of the World**

"I suppose aunt was right. All good things must come to an end." Andreth murmured regretfully, a dreamy look still clinging to her eyes as she followed Aegnor to the door of her simple house, leaning lightly against the doorframe, arms crossed as she looked him over thoughtfully, as if she wanted to memorize him completely.

"But this is not the end." Aegnor protested quietly but firmly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"We are in the middle of a war, and, somehow, I know you will not come back." she retorted softly, eyes level, voice icily calm, "I know that this is the end."

"No, it is not." Aegnor whispered, bending over and kissing her tenderly on the cheek, the pale freckled cheek that only ever blushed for him, "For once, Andreth, you are wrong."

"But our fates are sundered!" she exclaimed, twisting the loose linen tunic she had made for him in her fingers as if she could already feel him being torn away, a desperate look coming into her eyes.

"Not really, dearest, for we are truly in love, and hearts bound as close as ours cannot be severed by anything."

"Not even the will of Iluvatar?" she asked dubiously, carefully pushing a thick lock of Aegnor's striking sunlight hair back behind his ear.

"I believe that our love _is_ the will of Iluvatar, and that it shall endure beyond the circles of the world."

At that Andreth smiled faintly, replying, "Then that is what I believe as well." she paused, as if savoring the moment, before sighing, "I suppose I must now bid you farewell."

"Yes, farewell." Aegnor nodded politely before turning slowly and beginning to walk away, down Andreth's carefully maintained path.

She followed him with her eyes, a solitary tear slowly dripping down her cheek before crying, "Aegnor!"

The tall elf turned, drawing in a sharp breath as he beheld her beauty, beautiful even in anguish.

By now he was nearly over the hill, she had let him get that far.

"I love you!" she called, gripping the doorframe as if it were a lifeline.

Aegnor smiled, that brilliant smile that she had fallen in love with first, and raised his hand in salute before raising his face to the heavens and shouting, his voice full of joy, "And let it be known to all the world that I love her, and that our love will hold fast beyond the circles of the world!"

And she smiled back.

And he walked away.

_As Aegnor was consumed by fire, that soft, sweet smile was what he last saw through the thick, black smoke._

_And he felt no pain._

**You know what is the perfect song for their story? 'When you're gone', by Avril Lavinge. Oh my Elbereth, it will make you cry...**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, please review!**


	11. Handicapped:On Maedhros

**Handicapped **

Handicapped.

That was the only word Maedhros could make out clearly as he overheard his brothers' whispered conversation.

He clenched his fist in frustration, in denial, feeling anger begin to broil up inside him.

"What is the matter?" Fingon asked him no more than five minutes later as the two long-time friends were studying the maps littering every available surface.

Maedhros' fist was still clenched under the table.

"I am _not_ handicapped." he muttered angrily, eyes roving pointlessly over the map spread out before him.

"You are right. The only thing that can handicap you, dearest, is your own attitude about this new dimension to your life." Fingon replied softly, putting a pale hand on the lump in Maedhros' robes where he had hidden his stump.

There was a long silence, Fingon gazing earnestly at Maedhros, Maedhros looking away.

"I _am_ handicapped." he finally whispered, meeting Fingon's gaze.

"Only if that is what you think."

Maedhros smiled.

There was a reason he and Fingon had been the best of friends since childhood.

"Thank you."

"It is only the truth. Now, how exactly do you want this garrison stationed?"

**I just want to say a big thank you to the awesome NirCele! Thank you NirCele for your awesome reviews and support! :D And a huge thank you to everyone else who is reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting this story. **


	12. Tradition:The Great Finwean Clan

**Tradition**

"But Atto, why must I go? We do this every year!" Curufin complained, glaring at his father as if Feanor was doing him some great harm by insisting he join in for the annual strawberry picking that dominated the lives of the entire Finwean clan for nearly a week every year.

"Because," Feanor replied impatiently and for the third time that morning, clenching his teeth in frustration, "it is a family tradition. My father first started it with my mother and I when I was barely a child. If you are part of this family, Curufinwe, you will come."

Curufin sighed in exasperation before rising and following his father slowly and irritatingly as the two caught up with the rest of the rather large Finwean clan to go out and pick enough pounds of strawberries to last themselves the entire year.

They picked all day, and as evening drew near proudly brought their full baskets back to their mothers who began to busily sort the berries and started to preserve some, make others into jam, and put still others into a bowl to eat.

"Ambarussa!" Nerdanel scolded laughingly as her twin sons handed her an only half-full basket between the two of them.

It was clear from their red-stained faces and clothes where the rest had gone.

"You two look like you have been eating people!" Caranthir exclaimed with a smirk before proceeding to wash his protesting younger brothers up.

"I have never seen so many strawberries in my entire life." little Aredhel announced solemnly, staring at the rows upon rows of drying berries with awe.

"Here, grandfather, try this one, it is especially ripe." Angrod offered, smiling, holding up an especially luscious looking bright red strawberry up to Finwe's mouth expectantly.

"Thank you, darling." Finwe chuckled, patting his little grandson lightly on the head before popping the berry in the mouth of a surprised Indis.

"Atto," Curufin mumbled hesitantly, approaching his father who was in the midst of loudly organizing, categorizing, insulting, and ordering about his countless relatives, "I am sorry I was cross at you. This is a marvelous tradition."

Feanor's head snapped up suddenly, eyebrows raised incredulously.

"Nelyo told you to say that, did he not?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean it anyway?"

"Yes."

Feanor hugged his son tightly.

"Do not eat too many now, you will make yourself sick."

"Ambarussa both already have, Makalaure is taking care of them."

"How good of him. Run along now and go help your Amme, she has her hands full."

"All right, Atto."

Yes, there was a reason this tradition had endured for so long.

**I felt I needed to give you all something sweet after all this angst, XD**

**Translations:**

**Amme-mom**

**Atto-dad**

**Curufinwe-Curufin**

**Nelyo(nickname)-Maedhros**

**Makalaure-Maglor**

**Ambarussa-Amrod and Amras**


	13. Lion and Mouse:Fingolfin and his nephews

**The Lion and the Mouse**

"Tell us a story, uncle, please!" the Ambarussa crooned adorably, pulling on Fingolfin's tunic pleadingly.

"Yes, a story would certainly be nice." Maglor yawned from where he was sprawled on the couch, recovering from last night's annual no-sleep overly competitive singing competition, where he, needless to say, had won.

Fingolfin hesitated, he had never been an especially skillful storyteller. His little brother, Finarfin, would better fit that role.

He sighed in defeat as he glanced at the boys all around him, gazing up expectantly, and he knew there would be no escape.

"Fine! But what should I tell you a story about?"

"Animals," suggested Celegorm helpfully.

"Something disturbing," mumbled Caranthir angstily.

"A love story," offered both Ambarussa simultaneously, sighing dramatically.

"This is an animal story," Fingolfin decided, thinking fast as to what animal it would be about...

Celegorm shook his golden mane in anticipation, grabbing the nearest twin and seating him in his lap before adding to his suggestion as an afterthought, "But do not make them so silly again this time, please."

"Alright. They are serious animals."

Celegorm flipped his unruly hair over one shoulder again in irritation with it. Nerdanel had resolved to have it cut to a more manageable length by the next week, an arrangement which had sadly not yet taken place.

"It is about a lion."

The Ambarussa squeaked in a mix of fear and excitement.

"And a mouse."

Curufin raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"This should be interesting..." he mumbled, before preparing to hold on for the ride.

"Once upon a time, there was a lion, a very handsome, very brave lion."

"And his name was Maitimo." the twins cried excitedly, one of them proceeding to body-slam Maedhros with a quite epic and rather painful hug.

"Right. And there was a mouse, with dark fur, and a valiant heart-"

"FINDEKANO!" the twins fairly screamed, nearly deafening poor Maedhros, whose poor ear they had fairly screamed into.

"Yes. And one day Maitimo the lion caught Findekano the mouse, and wanted to eat him-"

"Nonsense! I would never want to eat Finde!" Maedhros interrupted, trying to talk over his younger brothers' fearsome giggles as they tried to imagine that.

"Maitimo, just let me finish the bloody story!"

Needless to say, story time with the Feanorians could quickly become a rather traumatic experience.

"Was it very gruesome?" Caranthir asked with interest. By now Maglor was sound asleep with his mouth hanging open.

"What?" Fingolfin asked, confused.

"When the lion eats the mouse."

"But he does not eat the mouse, the mouse is clever, and he tells the lion that if he lets him go, someday he will repay him with his help."

"But what can a mouse do to help a lion?" Curufin asked disdainfully from where he was braiding the twins' hair together.

"That is what the lion wondered too," explained Fingolfin, thinking fast, "yet he let the mouse go."

Maedhros nodded approvingly, and Fingolfin continued, "And one day the lion, Maitimo, got caught in a trap and was going to be killed, but Finde the mouse came, and chewed through the net and freed him just in time, and they were loyal friends forever after." Fingolfin finished, pleased with himself.

He was met with blank stares from the younger boys, a thoughtful look from Maedhros, and a snore from Maglor.

"Well," remarked the younger Ambarussa cheerfully after a long and awkward silence, "at least that one was not as weird as the one about the little Vanyarin girl and the three talking bears."

**Yes Fingolfin is a sort of Middle-Earthean mother-goose with his outlandish fairytales... XDXD**

**Maitimo-Maedhros**

**Findekano/Finde-Fingon**

**Please review!**


	14. Cold:Aegnor and Andreth

**Cold**

"I am worried about you, Andreth." Aegnor sighed worriedly, placing a hand on the woman's shaking shoulder, watching helplessly as she coughed violently, gasping for air in between. It seemed he was always watching her helplessly these days, watching as she was slowly being ripped away from him every day, with nothing he could do to stop it.

Aegnor hated being helpless.

"I am fine, Aegnor, this is naught but a cold, nothing of consequence." she protested meekly, wiping her mouth with the corner of her apron, leaving a bloodstain on the burnt cloth.

"This is _not_ a cold, Andreth."

"I am perfectly healthy, I assure you, and will recover soon from this mild and common ailment, there is need to worry."

"You are not perfectly healthy, and you know it. Believe me, I remember when you were, back when you were rosy-cheeked and always smiling, I remember when you were not interrupted mid-conversation by sudden coughing fits every single day."

It was true.

Aegnor did not know how or when exactly this decline in her health had come on, it had been gradual, it had just started with a cough.

A cough that had never gone away.

"Are you suggesting that I am weak?" Andreth inquired in the same tired, uninterested tone that had long ago replaced her old animated, charismatic one.

"You used to be so strong, love, but now even the act of lifting a simple kettle drains you. You are grown thin, and pale, and tired. Your speech and breathing are punctuated by gasping coughs, and there is blood-"

"Fine. I am not alright. This is not just a cold." she admitted quietly, averting her gaze.

"Promise me you will rest more. Promise me you will take better care of yourself. Promise me you will stay with me." he pressed, smoothing her windswept brown hair lovingly with a tender stroke.

She gazed up at him, frowning, for some time, as if trying to figure out how much she could get away with.

Finally, Andreth sighed in defeat.

"Yes, I promise."

But they both knew as she walked away that it was not a promise she would be able to keep.

**ok, this one needs a little bit of explanation. In my ****head cannon, Andreth dies of TB(tuberculosis), and Aegnor watches her slowly be taken away from him day by day, with nothing he can do to stop it. In my HC they are not with each other when they die, Aegnor is burned to death in the battle of sudden flame when the siege of Angband is broken, and at around the same time Andreth dies from her TB. :'(( sorry, I'm a sucker for romantic tragedy...**

**Please review and have an awesome day!**


	15. Rebellion:Elrond and Estel

**Rebellion**

Elrond had known it was inevitable, yet teenage Estel's rebellious attitude still took him by surprise.

The boy sat across from him, arms crossed, scowling sullenly at the floor.

"Well?" Elrond asked tiredly, trying to act the stern paternal figure Gilraen wished him to be.

"_I_ want to rule me own life, adar, I do not want it dictated by some stupid destiny laid out for me."

"I see. So, you do not want to be king?"

"No. I want to be able to decide for myself how to live my life."

"I see. Out of curiosity, what would you want to do with your life if you were not bound by your destiny?"

"I would want to marry a male dwarf who is at least twenty years older than I and move to the outer reaches of Harad and grow rice and breed mice for a living."

Elrond's eyebrows shot up at this outlandish plan, and he had to cough to suppress his laughter as he asked, "Is that really what you want to do with your life, or are you just saying that because you know your family and society would object?"

Estel mumbled something incoherent, still glaring at the floor.

Elrond sighed: Estel was even worse than Elladan had been... The elf-lord suppressed a shudder as memories full of the elder twin trying to live with wild animals, donning odd clothing, and an even odder haircut came flashing before his eyes.

Elrond sighed again: he would be having a lot of fun in these next few years, that much he knew from long experience.


	16. Dreams and Fantasies:On Maedhros

**Dreams and Fantasies**

The shopkeeper chuckled, amused, as he handed Maedhros the many goods he had purchased.

First the three loaves of bread, then the two wheels of cheese, followed by the sack full of apples.

Maedhros took a moment to strategically arrange these items in his basket before accepting the two jars of milk, balancing them on top.

"You feeding an army or something?" the elf chuckled, counting the coins good-naturedly, as it the amount did not really matter.

"I...have a big family." Maedhros explained quietly, smiling at the shopkeeper in turn.

"Why do you not just let the women of your household do the shopping?"

_Because all of them were still in Valinor._

"I like shopping for my family." Maedhros offered lamely, smiling and shrugging at the friendly man.

Of course, that was not the real reason he was the one who always volunteered to go buy the food, and there was a reason he always rode a long way to some little town where he would not be easily recognized to do it.

"What is wrong with your hand?" the young man asked in concern, motioning to Maedhros' right arm which he had bound up in a sling to hide the stump.

"A small accident, it will be back to normal in no time."

_No it would not. It would never be back to normal._

"Oops, do not forget those flowers you bought." the storekeeper exclaimed as Maedhros made ready to leave, "They for a special pretty lady?" he asked curiously as he handed the bouquet to the grievously overladen elf.

"No, actually, they are for a friend. He saved my life, and I can never seem to thank him enough."

The shopkeeper seemed disappointed.

"Oh. Well, anyway, have a nice day!" he cried, spirits immediately perking back up in time to wave enthusiastically at Maedhros as he left.

The russet-haired elf closed his eyes and smiled.

He loved going shopping, not for the actual act of shopping itself, but for the moment of peace it granted him.

When he put on a simple rustic tunic, hid his stump and rode to some relatively faraway town where he would not be easily recognized, Maedhros got the rare chance to be someone else.

He got the chance to be Maedhros the normal elf, the non-kinslaying, non-oathbound elf, whose family and life were not falling apart, whose hand had not been not cut off. He got the chance to be a simple elf who had a beautiful and entirely imaginary wife waiting, smiling at his doorstep for him with his little children hugging her skirts, the beautiful woman he could brag to the shopkeepers about in an attempt to feel more valid, more real.

"Nelyo! There you are, your brother has been worrying on your absence and sent me to find you." Fingon exclaimed as he galloped up to Maedhros, breathless, and the eldest son of Feanor felt suddenly guilty.

"I was shopping."

Fingon looked him up and down: the simple tunic, the concealed stump, the bandana hiding his distinct russet hair.

"Ah...I see." then he laughed suddenly, catching a glimpse of the flowers peeking out from inside the basket, "Honestly, Nelyo, more flowers? You can go off shopping and pretending as much as you want, just no more accursed flowers! My room is already overfull with them!"

**Nelyo-Maedhros' Quenya nickname**


	17. Crossing the Line: Finarfin and brothers

**Crossing the Line**

"Foolish, good-for-nothing little boy!"

"Hothead!"

"Brainless!"

"Cow-face!"

Feanor and Fingolfin were fighting again, Finarfin could not even remember why.

"Thief!"

"Liar!"

"Son of Finwe? You wish!"

"How dare you!"

Finarfin sat meekly on the ground, knees drawn up against himself as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing himself not to cry.

Why did they have to fight?

Why did they _always_ have to fight about _everything_?

Why could they not at least try to peacefully coexist?

But no, Feanor wished they have never been born, and he would always hate them for something they had no control over.

"Ugly, skinny little boy!"

"Savage callous-hands!"

"Spawn of darkness!"

"Mother-murderer!"

"Hah! Your mother is the wrong one, she has dishonored my mother's memory, and corrupted _my_ father!"

"Liar!"

Finarfin clenched his fists as the tears came trickling down through eyes squeezed shut.

"Dishonorable, wretched-"

"ENOUGH!"

The two older boys froze mid-insult, staring wide-eyed at their soft-spoken, mild-mannered little brother who had just emitted a yell that rivaled that of Finwe himself.

The boys stared for some time, before Fingolfin ventured, "Arafinwe, was that you?"

"Yes. Someone needs to keep you two under control, and unfortunately it seems as if I, your baby brother, am the one doing it." Finarfin mumbled in response before leaving to go find dear Irime, she would be able to cheer him up, leaving the two stunned young elf-lords behind him.

**Arafinwe-Finarfin**


	18. Fountain:On Ecthelion

**Fountain**

Ecthelion sat on the edge of the fountain, grey-blue eyes barely closed, dark eyelashes fluttering softly on his pale cheek.

Across from him slouched Glorfindel, reclined on his side, a blissful smile on his face as the light summer breeze lifted his sun-kissed hair off his bare shoulders.

"I dearly love fountains." Ecthelion remarked contentedly after a long moment of peaceful silence before playing a quick bird-like trill on the light shiny flute balanced between his long slender fingers as if it were weightless.

"Well then you, my friend, are in luck, for our beautiful city of Gondolin contains more fountains than any other." Glorfindel laughed, making half-hearted protestations as Ecthelion picked and tucked a small but bright golden flower behind his lordly friend's ear.

"I think," continued Ecthelion, swiveling on the thick stone side of the fountain upon which the two friends were resting, supporting himself on his hands as he leaned over, face getting closer and closer to the cold crystal water, gazing wordlessly at his reflection below.

Suddenly, in the water beneath him he saw the ghosts of flames, blood, smoke, staring back up at him, and the words died on his lips.

"Ecthelion, Ecthelion! Are you quite alright?" Glorfindel asked worriedly, voice rising as his friend yanked himself away, a cold sweat on his brow, eyes wide, face ashen.

"Ecthelion? Ecthelion, what happened?" Glorfindel asked again, grabbing the renowned

flutist's shoulders as he nearly toppled off the side from the sheer force of pulling back from the water's edge.

"Fine. I am fine. Sorry, that was nothing, do not worry yourself." Ecthelion reassured him hastily once he had gotten his breath back, smiling weakly, the fountain suddenly much less appealing. "If you would just put a shirt on we could go walk in the Way of Roses, to pick up some and leave them for Idril to find, she loves it when anonymous elf-lords do that." Ecthelion rose hastily, drawing his concerned friend away, daring one backwards glance at the now clear blue water before hurrying on, a cold feeling of dread settling over him.


	19. I Am Still Here:On Maglor

**I Am Still Here**

I am still here.

I have lost almost everything, but I am still here, slowly being forgotten, fading away just as my names fades from the old history-books and my deeds are no longer told, my songs no longer sung.

But I am still here, and though I have lost almost everything, I have not lost my voice, and I have not lost my memory,

In a way, I want to leave the shore, but I just cannot pull myself away.

It is lonely on the desolate coasts, but there is nothing left for me in Middle Earth, and I am forbidden to return to Valinor.

But I would not want to leave, even if I could.

Because I lost the last Silmaril in the sea, and I will never stop regretting.

Those jewels have brought ruin upon me and all of Arda and Valinor as well, yet I still desire them.

I am still here, even though all have forgotten me, wandering the lonely shores and singing songs lamenting my losses and the losses of the world as I fade from memory.


	20. Leaf:On Legolas

**Leaf**

He was her little leaf, so alive, so delicate, so strong, so beautiful.

His soft light golden hair existed only in small tufts on the infant's smooth head, but someday, she knew, he would have great long sunlit hair, just like his adar.

And his eyes, his big beautiful inquisitive eyes, like little emeralds set in his perfect little chubby baby face.

They were like tiny jewels crafted in the likeness of little leaves by the most skilled of all the elven-smiths.

She could hear the trees outside her open window, singing soft forest lullabies to her new baby.

"What shall our little prince's name be, dearest?" Thranduil whispered softly into her dark hair, wrapping his arms around her small slender frame as she rocked their new baby in her arms.

"I shall name my little leaf Legolas."

"Greenleaf." Thranduil murmured, obviously approving of her choice.

On the receiving end of his parent's warm smiles, Legolas giggled contentedly, green eyes sparkling like the sunlit leaves all around him.


	21. Waybread:On Aragorn

**Waybread**

Aragorn had survived off of many different types of waybread over his years in the wild.

When he had first departed from Rivendell as a young man, he had nibbled on Lembas crafted by the elves themselves, and it had sustained him like no other, each small bite melting in his mouth.

When he had traveled in the lands around the deserted city of Dale, he had nearly broken his teeth over cram bread, feeling the dry yet sustaining wafers sitting like stones in his stomach all day.

When he had left that area, traveling through the area inhabited by the Beornings, he had found himself with clumps of sticky crumbs stuck in his light facial hair from their honey-cakes.

He had lived off of many different types of waybread over the years, too many to count, but now he sustained himself with something different.

Legolas had glanced at him strangely when he refused his portion of Lembas that morning, Aragorn, the man who never refused a bite to eat.

"Are you feeling alright, mellon nin?" the elf had asked him worriedly, brows furrowed, eyes searching him, looking for an answer.

Aragorn had just smiled dreamily in reply, fingering the pendant that hung about his throat before mumbling, "I am fully sustained, mellon nin, worry not for my sake."

A faint smile of understanding had passed over Legolas' face as he put an arm around his old friend's shoulder.

"I see you have found a new sort of waybread."


	22. On My Own:A Spectator On Maglor

**On My Own**

"Who are you?" Nadia cried, begging an answer from the elusive specter she had been watching for years, the tall hazy figure who wandered the shores by her small ocean-side fishing village, deep blue robes and long dark hair flowing behind him in the salty sea-breeze.

At first she had thought the sorrowful ghosts of songs riding the wind accompanied by the crashing waves to simply be the sounds of the sea, but if she listened, she could hear words.

The phantom sang in a different language, the sounds were foreign to her, but during the long hours she hid behind the dunes or jagged cliffs, listening, she could make out and remember some of the words.

He sang the word 'Silmaril' most often, and 'Feanaro', and 'Maitimo' and 'Ambarussa' in great sorrow and regret.

But then the flowing song would take up a more yearning tone, almost fond, but still very melancholy, and she heard 'Elrond' and 'Elros' many times.

"Please," she tried again, coarse sandy hair whipping across her face in a gust of wind tossed from the waves.

The figure kept walking on, heedless of her cries.

"Nadia, who are you talking to?" her mother's voice called from the open door of their hut, sounding mildly concerned.

Nadia turned her head to answer, but could not think of what to say, what she could possibly say that would not distress her mother further.

She turned her head back towards the phantom again with a sigh, only to behold a desolate, chilly coast.

She was on her own again, though a moment before she knew he had been there.

But if she closed her eyes, she could still catch his mournful, hauntingly beautiful voice, carried on the wind.

**ok this one was just a little weird...O.o**


	23. Run and Run and Run:On Nessa

**Run and Run and Run**

She delights in moving fast, delights in the fresh sweet wind of Valinor blowing through her long auburn hair as it flows after her in waves.

Her dress appears simple enough, but there are thousands of pleats hiding a thousand more layers of light gaudy reddish-brown skirt that billows out around her like a great flower as she spins and twirls on the luscious greens of Valinor.

But even more than dancing, she loves to run.

She could run all day and all night, and she does, never pausing for breath.

To her, running is like flying as her feet delicately spring, step by soaring step across the forest floor at speeds unimaginable.

Tulkas chases after her, crying out that he will catch her yet.

But she smiles and flees him, though she would not object to being caught just this once, and she knows for all his strength and muscle that she is the faster runner.

As she runs from him, laughing gaily, her voice mingling with the song of the birds, the swift tawny deer leap from the brush around and join her, for they are her friends, they love to run as well, and could do it forever alongside her, though Nessa knows she is the swiftest of all.


	24. The Nature of Evil:On Turin and Lalaith

**WARNING: This one is really sad... Don't read if you don't like really sad drabbles, :)**

**The Nature of Evil**

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, providing comfort and a companionable warmth on the chilly evening.

Turin's mother, Morwen, was roasting nuts over the fire before dipping them in honey for her family, a rare and special treat.

Lalaith laughed her beautiful laugh as their father, Hurin, teased her with them before popping a few of the delicious nuts into her mouth.

Morwen smiled at her daughter before turning to Turin, standing in a dancing shadow behind her like a body-guard.

"Would you like some, dearest?" she asked him cheerfully as if she had not a care in the world, holding out a handful of sizzling nuts invitingly.

"Yes, thank you." Turin accepted them, smiling back, before turning to his father, who had launched into one of his marvelous songs especially for his giggling little daughter, and Turin sighed softly, closing his eyes and smiling as he bit down on a roasted nut, trying to capture this perfect moment forever in his mind.

Never mind that he was feeling so tired all of a sudden, or that the fire seemed too hot as it crackled happily in the darkness, this moment was still so perfect, never mind all the problems of the world around him, for this moment it felt as if he and his family were apart from all that, in their own little protected world of perfect bliss, he felt so happy and safe here, the feeling was hardly conceivable in his young mind.

That night the fever took a hold of him, and by the time he awoke, Lalaith was dead.

**I may or may not have been listening to 'Innocence' as I wrote this...**

**Please Review!**


	25. A Book:On Curufin

**A Book**

"Happy begetting day!" cried his family excitedly as they thrust the gift wrapped lovingly in bright sky-blue cloth into Curufin's hands.

Curufin loved his begetting day, well, to more correctly say it, Curufin loved the sticky buns Nerdanel made on his begetting day, but that is beside the point.

The point is that Curufin loved his begetting day, and it was about to get even better as he began to tug on the shiny crimson ribbon tied around the package to open it.

His rather large and occasionally overbearing family crowded around him, waiting expectantly as he tore off the fabric, and the present was revealed.

"A book?!" Curufin cried in dismay and, it must be said, disbelief as he glared down at the beautifully bound and undoubtably very expensive tome in his hands.

"Yes," crowed Nerdanel with pride, patting Feanor on the back, "written with the script your Atto invented himself!"

Curufin was not impressed, and handed the book to Maglor before asking, "Atto, are there any more sticky buns left?"

**Atto-Dad**

**Please Review!**


	26. Valinor:On Caranthir

**Valinor**

Caranthir dreamed about Valinor every single night.

He never talked about it, tried to never think about it, but at night he always dreamed about it.

The beautiful, rolling green hills where he would chase his brothers and cousins, and be chased by them in turn for hours on end, laughing.

Laughing.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that he used to really laugh, and now he could not quite recall the feeling of such childish bliss.

Not quite.

His dreams remembered enough, however. They remembered more than he.

He also dreamed of the inviting trees he had loved so much in Valinor, wherein he would hide when he did not want to be found.

Now there was nowhere to hide.

And his father's deliciously forbidden forge, wherein they would all peep for a look inside, praying not to be spotted.

But father was dead, and he had no forge here, there was only Curufin's forge, a gross imitation, as Caranthir saw it.

And then there was his family's sitting room in Valinor, it plagued his dreams with peaceful familial scenes of his beautiful mother, Nerdanel, reading to them, the twins in her lap, Curufin hanging off her neck, Celegorm perched above on the back of the couch, Maglor and Maedhros sitting on the floor by her legs, and himself, Caranthir, sitting by her side, leaning his head on her shoulder, scenes that would make him want to cry and scream like a child.

But these all took their turns teasing him, only one subject remained there, dominating his dreams, every night.

His young bride was always there, aglow with love and joy with her gentle smile and bright eyes, the only one who could really understand him.

Sometimes she would be in their kitchen, kneading bread, face and clothes dusted with flour.

Other times she would be dancing with Maglor's wife to his music, laughing and twirling before them.

And other times she would just be lying beside him, breathing softly in a blissful sleep, but she would always be there one way or another.

Maybe the Valar really were evil, Caranthir though darkly as he awoke from yet another set of those accursed dreams that he would not let go of for the world, if they were so determined to keep on tormenting him with images and memories of a life that would never be his again.


	27. Anatomy:On Findis

**Anatomy **

"Findis, what exactly are you doing?" Finwe asked suspiciously as his eldest daughter began wrapping brightly colored ribbon up her long, elegant legs.

"Can you not see, Atto?" she asked in irritation as she lifted her legs daintily at him, "I am preparing for the Midsummer festival."

"I know that, darling," Finwe sighed patiently, "but why are you wrapping your legs up in ribbons as if they are presents?"

"Because that is what everyone else does, Atto!"

"No, that is not the reason," Irime giggled naughtily from where she was wriggling into her dress, "the real reason is that the boys like that, and she wants to show off her lovely legs."

Finwe raised his eyebrows frighteningly at this before turning to Findis.

"Daughter, you shame me with this unacceptable behavior."

"But Atto-"

"Indis! Indis, come look at what your daughter is doing!" Finwe called to his wife while fixing Findis with a stern look.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked as she hurried in, long golden hair unbound as she was in the middle of combing it in preparation for the evening's festivities.

"Look at how your lovely maiden-daughter is preparing to conduct herself, Lalwen says she is wrapping these bright ribbons all up her legs to show them off to all the males who will be watching the ladies dancing!"

"Her legs are quite nice, and I see no harm in her showing them off to prospective husbands, she is of age, you know."

"Amme, does that mean I can do it too?" Irime asked eagerly, trying to snatch the spools of ribbon from her elder sister.

"I am afraid not, dear, you are too young, and Nolofinwe would simply not have it. Now, if you all will excuse me, my sons are having trouble with their hair and I must aid them." she nodded to them each in turn before taking up a bright spool of Findis' ribbon for herself and departing for the boys' room, leaving her husband spluttering helplessly behind her.

**Atto-Dad**

**Amme-Mom**

**Lalwen-Irime**

**Nolofinwe-Fingolfin. Fingolfin especially loved his little sister Irime and was very protective of here, hence he would definitely not have her showing off her legs like that...**

**Please Review!**


	28. From Afar:On Earendil

**From Afar**

Earendil watches his family from afar. Watches his boys grow up and his wife grow tired.

He watches them smile, cry, play, and sleep, and his heart aches as he wishes he could be with them.

"I hate father." mutters Elros one day, pushing around the food on his plate as if it had done him some great wrong, "Does he not care at all for us? I do not even remember him, he never writes, or visits, or anything. Mother always said he was watching over us, but I think she was wrong."

"Be careful what you say, little one, you never know if he might be listening." Maglor warned softly from where he was chopping vegetables, glancing knowingly at the dejected twins, "Your father might be able to hear you, you would not want to hurt him, he must be hurting enough already."

"He does not care enough to listen." Elros muttered almost inaudibly, gazing stubbornly out of the open window and into the night, chewing a mouthful of his late dinner darkly before exclaiming: "He deserves to be hurt! Does he not remember us? His own sons? Was he there to protect us and mother when we were in danger? Because of him, mother is dead." Elros finished quietly as Elrond let out a choked sob, taking his nearly identical brother in his arms, letting the younger twin bury his dark head into his tunic as they used to so often do when they were but little boys.

A crystal-like tear appeared in Earendil's eye, reflecting the dancing light of the stars around him as he swooped a little lower, sprinkling a handful of stardust down by the open window from where he was hiding behind a cloud, offering the only sort of greeting he knew how to make before continuing on, always doomed to watch from afar.


	29. Mixed Feelings:On Fingon

**Mixed Feelings**

It was his first kiss.

Soft and sweet.

Embarrassed and hot.

Slow and tender.

Hasty and rushing.

As Fingon pulled away, gasping for breath, he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

() () ()

They had done it.

The Helcaraxe was behind them.

The warm sun rose for the first time, scorching their frozen fingers and noses, welcoming them to their new home.

But it didn't feel like home.

() () ()

It was a hopeless rescue.

Maedhros' eyes were dull and tired, yet they sparkled with a resilient fire.

His skin was a deathly pale, yet his hair was still full of its unique color.

Fingon set his teeth, forcing himself to focus on what he was doing as he drew the knife from his boot, taking Maedhros' free hand in his own.

Somehow what he was doing did not feel right, even though he knew it was.

() () ()

He was dying.

Fire scorching his body as it began to turn cold.

Pain racing through even as it was brought to rest.

Defiance flaring in him even though he couldn't wait to be gone.


	30. Point of View:On Maglor

**Point of View**

Maglor sat on his bed in the dim room.

It was early morning, and he had not yet opened the curtains, making the little room feel like some large and over-heated shadow.

He sighed softly to himself as he heard a car alarm go off in the distance, slowly rolling up the denim of his jeans to get at a long pale leg.

He took the plastic bottle of moisturizing lotion from his windowsill, pumping a little puddle of the fragrant stuff into the palm of his outstretched hand.

"I wonder," he mused to himself as he worked the lotion over his legs, dark strands of hair from yesterday's messy ponytail he had forgotten to undo falling before his eyes, "that although these humans do so much to themselves-lotion, showers, soap, toothpaste, doctors, surgeons, vaccinations-somehow they still die, every one of them."

He took a quick drink from the bottle of water on his second-hand bedside-table before rubbing the lotion over his face and arms.

"I wonder why they spend all their time taking care of themselves so meticulously, so expensively, so completely, in the hope of immortality, even though they know in their hearts that nothing can stop the gift of Iluvatar."

He rose, pulling out the threadbare hair-tie and walking over to the window, pulling open the curtain and watching the bustling city waking up and going about its business as he slowly worked the comb through his tangled hair.

"I wonder why they are so afraid of their mortality, why they deny it, avoid it, spend all of their preciously short lives trying to stop it, when I would do anything if I could only possess that gift."

**It has always been my belief that Maglor did not drown himself in the sea with the Silmaril, that instead, as was Tolkien's other idea, he threw it in and wandered the shores forever, and that he is still here to this day...somewhere...:D Hence this drabble, where he is living in an apartment in some modern-day city, discovering the comforts of moisturizing lotion and talking to himself. ;)**

**Please review! Thanks for reading!**


	31. Fickle:On Eowyn

**Fickle**

Eowyn shies away from the bee buzzing harmlessly by like a frightened pony, sweeping up her skirt and ducking, dodging as it swoops back.

She sprints a few paces to get away from the little creature that never meant any harm from the beginning, breathing hard as she brushes a lock of tangled, sweaty hair away from her face.

Eowyn has always been so ridiculously frightened of bees, ever since she fell off her horse and into a nest of aggressive yellow-jackets when she was just a little girl.

Eomer's words from earlier come back to her, 'Woman is such a fickle thing."

She had scoffed at him then.

Eowyn is not afraid of dragons, nor orcs, nor blood, nor famine, nor darkness.

She is not even afraid of death.

But she is afraid of bees.

Eowyn laughs at the thought, throwing her slender arms up into the air and going the rest of the way at a slow skip.

Maybe Eomer was right about something after all.

**Written because Eowyn is one of my favorite characters, and it's been ages since I wrote anything about her XD**

**Have a stellar day!**

**:DDD**


	32. Water:On Idril

**Water**

Idril shivered, gripping the side of the tub so hard that her knuckles turned white as she cried out in pain.

She had asked for this.

She had asked for the midwife to place her in freezing water.

Her mother, Elenwe, had delivered her in the Helcaraxe, surrounded by every elleth available, clustering tightly around her to keep her and the new baby as warm as possible.

Idril could be giving birth in as much comfort as possible.

But no, she had set her teeth and had asked the midwife to put her in freezing water.

At first the woman had brought her only mildly chilly water.

"Colder," Idril had forced herself to say, until it was brutally cold.

And yet she was sweating, she realized, even in the freezing water.

Idril wondered if her mother had sweated, even as she nearly froze in the cold, giving birth to her only child.

When little Earendil came, he was warm.

She wondered if it was possible for a baby born in the middle of the Helcaraxe to be warm.

Yet she felt warm now, gazing down at her little baby boy, smiling as he sobbed.

And she closed her eyes, and pretended she was her mother.


	33. Hidden:On Aredhel

**Hidden**

He tells her that he is hiding her from the world.

He tells her that she is too beautiful for the rest of the world to see.

He hides her where nobody can find her, he is very good at hiding.

He teaches their son how to hide, he tells him that is the only way to survive.

She hates him bitterly, but she wouldn't leave, even if she could.

Why she feels that way is a mystery she will never be able to figure out.

Even her husband's heart is hidden from her.

Does he really love her?

Aredhel will never know.

All she knows is that somehow, she loves him.

She wants to kill him, but she knows she would cry if anything ever happened to him.

She has seen the effect he has already on their son.

Her little Maeglin is already learning to hide behind his father's cold, unnerving smile.

He has already learned to conceal his thoughts from her, his own mother.

She hates her hidden husband, yet she knows she would give her life for him.

But she would die for Maeglin first.


	34. My Weapon's Name:Turin and Nellas

**My Weapon's Name**

"This," little Turin explained solemnly to a very interested Nellas, displaying the bow Beleg had carved just for him proudly before her, "is 'Elf-gift', because Beleg gave it to me. He says every great weapon needs a great name."

"I see." said Nellas appreciatively, taking the bow and examining it critically.

"What is your weapon's name?" Turin asked, shifting his position on the branch they sat on, cocking his head at her most inquisitively.

"My weapon's name is 'Forest." she responded, smiling and ruffling the boy's dark hair.

"But that is so un-creative, pick something interesting, like 'Faithful Companion', or 'Maiden-defender', or 'Purger of Darkness'."

Nellas chuckled as she listened, braiding a flexible young branch into her long, dark hair.

"Turin, I do not think you understand. 'Forest' its name is because forest it is. The woods are my weapon, and I am its."

"Ooooooooh..." Turin murmured the word long and slow in understanding, "That makes more sense. I mean, it is rather hard for me to envision you with a sword or an axe or something. The forest makes more sense for you. But how do you use it as a weapon?"

"Nellas! Turin! Where are you?" Beleg's voice came up through the trees as he searched for them.

"Just you watch. We will keep him looking for us all day, the forest is a marvelous weapon, if you know how to use it." Nellas giggled evilly before disappearing into the branches above, about to put Beleg on the hide-and-seek game of his life.


	35. Any One of Us:Elenwe's death observed

**Any One of Us**

I stare in horror at the body trapped beneath the ice, unable to tear myself away.

I dare to take a step nearer, and I can see her pale slender body wedged beneath two sheets of ice, her bright sunny hair splayed out, glistening, under a sunless sky.

She has never looked so beautiful.

The air is silent and still, as if in mourning for her, its respectful silence broken only by Idril's choked sobs as she clings to her father.

She is the lucky one, he was able to rescue her from beneath the ice.

But Elenwe was trapped beyond hope, and Turgon was forced to watch her suffocate helplessly, separated by a sheet of cruelly frozen water.

I saw it as well, and I think I never shall be able to forget it.

I clutch my own wife to me at the horrible realization that that could have been any one of us, that they just happened to be the unlucky ones.

My own wife's hair is dark, but I can just as easily imagine her trapped under there instead of Elenwe.

I bury my face in her hair, clutching her all the tighter against me.

That could have been any one of us, and there is still quite a bit of Helcaraxe left to go.

**For those of you wondering, our poor observer(let's call him Bob the Noldo)and his wife both make it. Because I'm nice. *cackles evilly***

**REVIEWS?! PLEASE?! Oh my reviewers...where have you gone...*sobs***

**Have a truly epic day!**


	36. New Race:On Saeros

**New Race**

"Run! Run faster! Run, Saeros, run!" Saeros' little sister screamed enthusiastically from the tree she clung to as the five young ellyn raced beneath, kicking up dust and leaves in their wake.

Saeros ran on, encouraged by her words, overtaking the elf before him, legs pounding, racing forward.

The cheers from the many elves perched above them in the trees rang in his ears, many different voices with many different words.

But they all boiled down to one word alone.

Run.

He listened, running and running and running, making his sister proud as he finished first, long legs serving him well yet again.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Run! Run faster! Run, Saeros, run!" Turin yells, swinging his sword at Saeros as the elf runs for all he is worth, long and naked legs pounding up the dust and leaves like they had so many times before.

Except this time there is a fatal difference.

This is a new sort of race.

A sort of race Saeros isn't sure he can win.


	37. Finally:On Amarie

**I have neglected these drabbles overmuch lately...**

**Finally**

Amarie sat forlornly on her windowsill, knees drawn up to her chin, eyes roving over the lush Valinor greens chock full of happy animals and Elves, flowers and trees, and the occasional Vala or Maia.

On a beautiful Feanorian-made bench close by reposed a young couple. The ellon had his arm around the elleth, who had lain her head on his chest.

Their eyes were closed in blissful contentedness, and they looked to be at complete peace. They were both of the Vanyar, their golden hair sparkling in the sunlight, and if Amarie tried hard enough, she could almost imagine it was her and Finrod there on that bench, just married that morning and happy as a pair of clams, as her new mother-in-law Earwen would say.

But it was not her and Finrod.

She sighed, closing her eyes to their bliss as she felt a cold tear trickle down her cheek.

He had been gone for so long, Amarie had lost count of the years. She was beginning to wonder if he really was ever coming back at all.

She was startled out of her lonely thoughts by a fierce pounding on the door, a pounding completely uncharacteristic of Valinor.

She leapt up from the sill and hurried to the receive her unexpected visitor, light summer dress billowing back around her as she opened the door, eyebrows raised inquisitively as she looked to see who it was.

The minute the door opened, she found herself staring into a pair of all-too-familiar blue eyes, a pair that she had been fantasizing and romanticizing about ever since he had left. She barely had time to realize what was going on before she was practically body-slammed with the hug to end all hugs, completely knocking all the breath left from her.

"Findarato?" she gasped, face lost in his soft golden hair.

"Oh Amarie, dearest beloved, as the werewolf was devouring me, it was your face I saw!" he cried in ecstasy as he kissed her, eyes brimming with tears long held back.

"Devoured by a werewolf?" Amarie echoed softly, too bewildered and happy to make clear sense of anything, before returning the kiss.

Finally.

Finrod had finally returned.

Just like he had promised he would all along.

**Findarato-Finrod**

**For those unaware, Finrod was eaten by one of Sauron's cute pet werewolves. Yup. Ouch, poor guy...**

**Anyway, guess what? I finally got around to making my own cute little chibi Maedhros hanging from the Thangorodrim keychain out of polymer clay! It's so cute... I got the idea from a person on DeviantART, and I realized just after I'd finished it that I hung him from the wrong hand, XD**

**Anyway, have a great day, and please review! **


	38. Letters:On Celebrimbor

**Letters**

Celebrimbor never pretended to be good at talking, at making himself heard.

He was quiet, awkward, preferring to express himself through his craftsmanship, by making beautiful things that made people smile.

But there were so many things he always wanted to say, but never got the chance to.

Hence the letters.

"Why are you always writing letters?" Celegorm inquired irritably one morning as Celebrimbor was at his desk again, filling a piece of parchment with hasty handwriting.

"Do you have so much to say?" he asked again, as his nephew did not respond.

Celebrimbor still did not answer.

He was busy, writing a letter to Nerdanel, telling her what he was up to, what he enjoyed, what he disliked, telling the grandmother he never met that he loved her anyway.

He had never gotten to meet most of his family.

Celebrimbor was starving for family.

He had met his father's half-cousin, Turgon, and his own second cousin, Idril. He lived with his father and uncle, in the kingdom of Finrod, their half-cousin, and sometimes they saw Galadriel, Finrod's little sister.

He liked to pretend that the rest of his family were just away for a short while, and that he would see them again soon, even though he knew he would never see them, at least here, in Middle Earth.

He liked to pretend that he had promised to write every day, and he would keep his promise, writing letters and sending them away on the water or the wind, waiting for replies that would never come.

**I just feel so bad for the poor guy...*sob*...**


	39. Learning:Feanaro and Arafinwe

**Learning**

"Did your Amme bake you good things to eat like mine does?" Arafinwe asks as he excitedly accepts several warm pastries from Indis as she hands them out to the three boys, fresh out of the oven.

Findis is not there, she stopped caring about such things long ago, but the boys will never stop caring, they will always hurry to Indis' kitchen the moment they can get a whiff of her baking. They are all there now, Nolofinwe leaning against the wall with a book, Feanaro sitting on the counter, and Arafinwe clutching Feanaro's knee with his free hand, gazing up at at him expectantly.

Irime will arrive on the scene momentarily to claim her pastry, they know, the moment she is called.

Feanaro sighs, gazing down into the inquisitive blue eyes before him, sparkling bright.

Arafinwe always wants to learn as much as he can about Miriel, Feanaro has tried 'I-don't-remember's and 'none-of-your-business's, he has tried scowls, he has tried ignoring his half-brother, but nothing seems to work.

"No." he says finally, and Arafinwe's eyes widen.

"Why ever not? Did she not love you?" he asks incredulously around a mouthful of pastry, baking being an un-shakable condition of a good mother in his eyes.

"She always said she was too tired." Feanaro murmurs, gazing out of the window and through the fluttering curtains his mother wove herself before he was born, one of the only remnants of her left in this house now, and over the rolling hills as the buttery crust melts in his mouth.


	40. Fire:Glorfindel and Erestor

**NOTE: Please do not take this one seriously, this one's just for the laughs...oh the OOCness...**

**Fire**

"AAAAAAIIIIII!"

Glorfindel's distraught screams brought Erestor running, half-expecting to find the famed Balrog-slayer mauled and murdered on the floor of his study, from the way he was carrying on.

"Glorfindel! Goodness gracious, whatever is the matter?" Erestor cried in terror as he skidded to a stop before the open door, eyes wide with fright.

It must be understood that Glorfindel's sudden outburst gave him a great scare indeed.

"I burnt myself!" the golden-haired warrior cried pitifully, finger in mouth, candle flickering innocently on his desk.

"However did you manage that?" asked Erestor, relieved.

"I touched it. I wanted to see if I could still get burnt, post re-incarnation. I didn't think I would." he explained sheepishly, finger still in mouth.

"Well that was stupid. Here, let me take it out before you do anything else reckless."

"Erestor, stop, that flame is _evil_!" Glorfindel cried, lunging at it as Erestor grabbed for it.

"Ai! Erestor, you are on fire!" Glorfindel cried with dismay as the candle was knocked off the desk in the violent struggle, setting the hem of Erestor's trailing dark robes alight.

Although Erestor himself remained calm, Glorfindel panicked, dragging his friend to the floor and attempting to extinguish the small fire with his body and robes.

"Get off me, you moron!"

"But Erestor, you are on fire! I'm trying to save you!"

Little Estel, concerned by the loud and rather panicked cries coming from Glorfindel's study, hurried in to behold the two Elves apparently tussling on the floor, both slightly on fire, yelling wildly, Glorfindel slapping Erestor with his own robes, and Erestor pulling Glorfindel's hair ferociously in an attempt to get him off.

Little Estel took one look at the situation, squeezed his eyes shut, and shrieked:

"Ada! Glor' and 'stor are trying to kill each other!"


	41. Justice:On Elured and Elurin

**Justice**

"I'm scared." Ferlain murmured brokenly to the trees as she wandered deeper and deeper into the forest.

She did not quite know how she had gotten lost in the first place, but now she was in the middle of unknown woods without any one of Ossiriand's seven rivers within sight or sound, and she was only wandering deeper and deeper into the unknown trees before her.

"I should have listened to Nana and stayed home and made fruit and nut bread for Halloth's Naneth like she told me to, I suppose this is my punishment. What if I never find my way out? What if I never see Nana again?" she sobbed, panic rising in her little chest as she sunk to the ground at the foot of a great old hickory tree, wrapping her arms around it, closing her eyes tightly shut and laying her head on the mossy bark for comfort.

"Little girl, are you lost?"

Ferlain jumped with fright at the unexpected voice, opening her closed eyes to behold two ellyn that looked to be brothers, one extending a hand to her, both smiling.

"A little elfling like you should not be out in the woods anyway, sweet little child, where do you live? We can take you home, we know this forest well."

"Wh-who are you?" she managed in a shaky voice, clinging to the tree all the tighter, looking for all the world like a cornered animal before the strange but well-meaning ellyn.

"We are Elured and Elurin, Elves of the woods, do not worry, we do not wish to harm you. Where do you live? If you tell us then we can take you back to your home."

"The tree tells me you are good Elves." Ferlain murmured hesitantly, pressing her ear to the rough bark.

"So you are a Laegrim, are you? Which river do you live by?" one chuckled, taking a step closer.

Somehow, Ferlain did not feel threatened by the action.

"The Legolin. My Nana lives in an elm tree by the river Legolin. Thank you for your kindness!" she smiled shyly, taking the one's hand and letting the brothers lead her towards home.

"Think nothing of it, I only wish there had been someone to help us when we were lost and alone in the forest as elflings. If only there had been someone to lead us home."

"I suppose I am very lucky then, that you happened to find me."

"Ai, but we are always here somewhere in these woods. If you ever need us again, just call our names, and we will be there. We promise."

"Le hannon, Elured and Elurin."

"There is your river, right through these bushes. Goodbye, little friend, we must be off now, stay safe." the taller one whispered some time later as they crouched behind some tall green bushes, the sound of rushing water greeting them.

"Farewell, I will leave some fruit and nut bread out here for you if you like sometime, it is very good."

"Very well. We shall keep an eye out for it."

They both smiled at her, waving goodbye as she disappeared through the bushes, watching as she ran into the arms of her nearly hysterical mother before melting back into the shadows of the forest.

**...and now you have my version of the fate of Elured and Elurin. **

**Laegrim-Green-elves. They are saying that she is of the green-elves of Ossiriand. **

**Have an awesome day! **

**Please review**


	42. Pet:Celegorm and Nerdanel

**Pet**

"But Amme, why can I not have a pet?" little Celegorm whined, taking hold of his mother's stained apron pleadingly.

Nerdanel sighed, taking her son up by the armpits and sitting him down on the counter to put them at eye-level. She had found by careful trial-and-error that this was the most effective way to get a point across to him.

"Turko, I have told you already, there are too many little boys running around this house-your Atar included-to add a feisty little animal to the mix. I'm sorry, dear, but for now you will have to be content with keeping company with all your wild animal friends in the woods."

"But Amme, you don't understand! I want a pet that always follows me around, that sleeps with me at night, that is really and truly _my pet_."

"I'm sorry, Turko, not today."

Celegorm pouted before springing down from the counter and going off into the woods with plans to relate all his troubles to a pair of obliging chipmunks currently residing in a tree nearby.

() () ()

"Amme, Amme! Guess what, Orome gave me a dog! His name is Huan, and he told me he was all my own and to take good care of him! Orome gave me a dog!"

**Nerdanel is going to have some choice words for that Vala...heh heh...**

**Please review!**

**Thanks and have great day! **


	43. Failed Attempt:On Maglor

**Failed Attempt**

Maglor glares down at his shiny, recently-painted toenails with repulsion.

He had been fascinated with the new and exciting idea of nail polish, and had, of course, chosen the most outlandish color available.

Neon hot pink.

It is summer, and people give him the oddest looks as he goes about his business in his old sandals, baring the neon hot pink nails to the world.

Maglor wants to slap himself for his foolishness.

"Don't worry," his roommate reassures from where he is typing away on his laptop, smiling, "it will come off."

"I wish all my mistakes could go away so easily." he mutters to himself, running his fingers over the label on the bottle of nail-polish regretfully.

"What?" his roommate asks, looking up.

Maglor shakes his head.

"Nothing."

Why on Arda was he living with a roommate? Soon enough the young man who ordered them both pizza every friday night would realize there was something odd about Maglor.

He would notice how his roommate never aged or had to shave, never got sick, didn't have pictures of himself as a kid, didn't even have a family.

Maglor's greatest friend would become his greatest problem.

He supposes he'll just have to move out in a year or so, keep moving from town to town, state to state, country to country.

Come to think of it, why didn't he just move out of this apartment now, before things get messy? Why does he linger here in this insignificant town?

Maglor sighs, unscrewing the little bottle and beginning to absently paint his fingernails.

Maybe it was because he was just so lonely here, in this foreign world.

"Hey man, you're really gonna regret that." laughs his roommate, padding over and putting an arm around him, taking the nail-polish from his grasp.

Maglor has only gotten to the pinky nail on his left hand.

He smiles.

"Thanks."

Maybe it was because he needed a friend.

**Because I'm obsessed with ModernDay!Maglor...sigh...**


	44. Threads:Miriel and Finwe

**Threads**

"What are you doing?" Finwe asked Miriel, placing a hand on her shoulder as he pulled up a stool and took a seat beside her, watching intently as her pale nimble fingers flew over the loom he had made for her when they were married.

"What does it look like?" she asked sarcastically, turning to him and smiling fondly, fingers never pausing in their cherished work.

"I know, but what are you making?" Finwe laughed softly, bending his head to bestow a tender kiss on her soft, silver hair.

"I am making a special tunic for my special son." she replied, weaving a bright golden thread in as she spoke.

"Why not a baby blanket? He will come soon, and that will serve you better, I suppose. That tunic is for a boy of at least ten years, I should think, you will have time to make those later."

Miriel kept her grey eyes focused on the flying threads before her.

"Not all the time you think, love. I am making this for him to remember me by. Every thread is added with a feeling, a thought, and a blessing. It is my greatest masterpiece, and when he wears it and runs his fingers over the threads, he will feel his Amil with him."

**Why so sad, Muse, why so saaaaaaaad? :(( Poor Finwe...so oblivious...**


	45. Snow:On Irime

**Snow**

Snow is caught in her lashes.

She tastes its cold, pure flavor as it melts on her tongue.

Snow is reflected in her tears as they trickle down her snow-flecked cheek as she holds her husband's body, cold as ice, snow sprinkled over his dark hair with its little crystals of white.

He gave his blankets to her and their son.

They used to have three children, but their daughter stayed behind, choosing the love of a Vanya over that of her family, and their other son fell at Alqualonde where he rushed heedlessly into battle.

Her golden son wipes the clustering snowflakes away from his father's face, and there are no tears on his cheeks, stained pink from the raw winter wind.

Her brother still calls her Lalwen, but it seems unfitting now, for she has not laughed since they started the great trek across the Helcaraxe, 18 years ago.

"Why did he have to die?" her Laurefindil, her golden son murmurs brokenly, clutching his father close in disbelief, wondering why he couldn't have died instead. He, like his father, is much too valiant for his own good, and she fears for him.

The Helcaraxe is no place for them, Elves were not meant for endless snow and ice.

The Helcarace is no place for Lalwen, 'Laughing Maiden'.

So she calls herself Irime instead, as they plough onwards through the endless snow.

**This one needs a little explaining:**

**Irime is the 2nd daughter of Indis and Finwe, sister of Fingolfin and Finarfin. Her nickname and most frequently used name is Lalwen, 'Laughing Maiden', and she followed her brother Fingolfin to middle earth out of love and loyalty to him. In my headcannon, she is mother of Glorfindel(Laurefindil), although in cannon any spouse/children of Irime are unknown(as are Glorfy's origins, hence the headcannon)**

**Anyway, thanks, please review, and have a great day!**


	46. I Know You:Nerdanel and Feanaro

**I Know You, But Where?**

Nerdanel stood as she did every day, at the back of the group, a lingering figure who always showed up alone before the gates of Mandos, and always left alone, face fallen a little further into loneliness and despair.

She watched hopefully, eyes searching for faces she knew for the millionth time as the Elves were released from the Halls of Waiting, recognizing and hurrying to their families.

Nerdanel's heart sighed and a small smile spread across her face as a young ellon was reunited with his wife. He was very tall, like her Maitimo, and the elleth had to stand on tip-toe to reach him for a tender kiss, just like she had had to stand on tip-toe for a last goodbye kiss before he left for Middle Earth, her lovely firstborn.

She shivered, gathered the monstrous shawl her grumpy Carnister had made her so long ago around her, even though it was not cold.

She had come here every day for ages, hoping for a familiar face to embrace and walk home for a hot meal.

She was beginning to wonder if Namo would ever give her family back to her.

Her heart skipped a beat suddenly as a pair of searching silver eyes caught on her from somewhere in the crowd, confused, searching.

"Excuse me, pardon me." he muttered apologetically to the oblivious Elves he slid past, finally reaching the lone woman at the back of the crowd, frozen with apprehension.

"Pardon me, I know you, but where?" he asked, confused, cocking his head at her, eyes demanding an answer the way they always had.

"Oh, Feanaro!" she cried, the tears of years of being all alone spilling down her cheeks as she beheld him, her long-awaited husband.

And then he remembered.

**...because my Muse is in love with Lonely!Nerdanel. Seriously, though, she is just really hard to not write about! :/**

**This one was inspired by a scene from 'Sauron Is the Cutest Thing Ever!' by ** **KiyaJinnSkywalkerKenobi, a truly awesome and hilarious story, which I highly recommend, :D**

**Maitimo-Maedhros**

**Carnister-Caranthir**

**Feanaro-Feanor**

**Namo-Mandos**

**Please review, thanks for reading, and have a great day!**


	47. Wind:On Elwing

**Wind**

Elwing stands, tall and firm as a tree, letting the wind lift her hair up off her shoulders, lift the fabric of her dress up from her skin.

The wind blows through her, and she closes her eyes.

And then she feels as if she is riding on the wind like a bird, weightless, like a feather lifted and tossed on the wild wind, holding her gently like an attentive child holds a delicate butterfly.

The wind gets stronger, and she lets it pull up her arms and body, her feet rise and she is balancing on tip-toe.

The wind is harsh and relentless, it whips over the ocean and rakes through the trees.

But the wind is gentle with her.

It cradles her lightly in its grasp, and when she stands on tip-toe, eyes closed and arms wide to the wind, she feels as if she is a bird, riding the currents of air through the sky.

How nice it would be to be a bird, to sail over the ocean and the trees, to soar up into the night on the arms of the gentle breeze.

She sighs as the wind calms, buffeting her no longer with its loving caress, and she lowers her arms, and opens her eyes, and hears her mother calling, and remembers the earth that she is bound to still.

**Elwing is a young girl in this story. :)) review? Maybe? Yes?**


	48. Ship:On the Teleri

**Ship**

She sighs, arching her back in an exhausted stretch, rubbing the weariness from her eyes with numb, callused hands.

She has been working all day at her loom, weaving the pure white sail with care and love.

She rises, stretching her arms up to the sky, as high as they can go, before meandering down through the warm soft sand towards the group of neri laboring lovingly over the ship they are building together on the sand, pitcher of cold pure water balanced on her hip with a long, slender arm.

"When this ship is done, our fleet will be complete." sighs her brother, almost regretfully as she hands him a cloth dripping with the cool water to refresh himself with.

"Oh, look, it's Airesare!" cries a dark-haired ner, looking up from his bucket of paint and smiling excitedly at her.

"How is that sail coming, girly?" another ner asks her amicably, sidling up and putting an arm around her small frame.

"Nearly there. Amme and I have been exhausting ourselves over it."

He smiles, laying his head on her shoulder with satisfaction.

"We have built ourselves a fleet of swan-ships to last us for eternity." Olwe's eldest son, prince of Alqualonde, sighs happily, patting the half-finished prow of the ship fondly.

"Yes." she agrees, blushing with pride at their accomplishment.

_It's amazing, _she thinks now,_ how fast all of that can be ripped away._

_How fast it can all be destroyed._

**This one was inspired by that part in the Silmarillion at the Kinslaying of Alqualonde, where Tolkien laments the loss of the great fleet of swanships, built lovingly by the men with sails woven with care by their wives and daughters. That part always made me so sad, at not only the loss of the swanships, but at the loss of all the love, the family, the community, the happy little civilization that could so quickly be destroyed.**

**Sorry for the angst, but it's hard to write anything about the Silmarillion without getting angsty, lol...**

**Anyway, please review and have a stellar day!**


	49. A Simple Delight:On The House of Finwe

**Fingon and Maedhros' interactions here are meant as very close friendship, not slash. I do ship Russingon, but I do not write it(yet). It could probably be interpreted as slash if you like, but it is meant as friendship and is most easily interpreted as such. :))**

**A Simple Delight**

"How much longer will the sausages be, Ata?" a very small Nerwen asked, wriggling with excitement in her mother, Earwen's, arms.

"Not much longer." he replied, leaning forward to give his wife a quick and tender kiss before going back to turning the browning sausages over the flames.

"Don't you just love family barbecues like this?" asked Maitimo as he cut the great yellow watermelon Makalaure had grown himself into neat slices.

"Yes. I can't believe you were able to convince your Atar to come, though." Findekano snickered in reply, Angarato and Aikanaro resolutely clinging to him. Maitimo and Findekano had given up on getting a private moment, as the bright-haired brothers just wouldn't let Findekano, their favorite, go.

"Well, I think he only came to make frying the potato-cakes a competitive affair with uncle Nolo." he sighed long-sufferingly, motioning to their fiercely grilling fathers with his head as he handed pieces of the honey-sweet watermelon to Anaire and baby Arakano, who ate the juicy fruit greedily, resulting in the juice dribbling down his chin and all over his new robes, much to his mother's chagrin.

"Where did the twin-cousins get off to? They will miss the food." Nerdanel asked them as she took a piece of the bright yellow watermelon for herself and another to feed to her competing husband, eyebrows raised in concern.

"They're lying down on the grass over there, planning Findarato and Amarie's betrothal ceremony." Irisse supplied as she toddled over, motioning to where Turukano and Findarato were sharing a great cob of corn and speculating over which type of flowers would look best for the ceremony.

"Ata! Ata!" the little red-headed twins cried, leaping at their father and attaching themselves to his thigh as he attempted to flip the potato patties faster than his half-brother.

"Go pester Moryo**,** dears, I'm busy." he grunted, sweat running down his brow as Nolofinwe got one cake ahead of him.

"I think they are going to make at least 100 of those before someone's able to reel them in. I bet this sausage on it." Tyelkormo muttered to Curufinwe, and he nodded, agreeing to the bet as he accepted a cup of lemonade from a smiling Indis.

Tyelkormo cursed softly under his breath as Finwe put his arms around his two eldest sons, suggesting that they stop at only 89 cakes.

Aikanaro and Angarato finally left as Arafinwe called them all over, running to get some of the steaming patties first, leaving Findekano and Maitimo to themselves at last.

Findekano stood on his tiptoes to give Maitimo a light brotherly kiss on the cheek, drawing back with a soft smile.

"You taste sweet."

"Must be that watermelon."

"Yes, the juice is all over your face. Want to go get a potato cake?"

"Sure, did your Amil bring any of her apple paste to go with them?"

"Mhm. Come on, Russo, let's go get some."

"I love family barbecues."

"So do I."

**ok, now for the part you've all been waiting for...all the name translations...**

**Arafinwe-Finarfin**

**Findarato-Finrod**

**Angarato-Angrod**

**Aikanaro-Aegnor**

**Nerwen-Galadriel**

**Nolo/Nolofinwe-Fingolfin**

**Findekano-Fingon**

**Turukano-Turgon**

**Irisse-Aredhel**

**Arakano-Argon**

**Maitimo/Russo-Maedhros**

**Makalaure-Maglor**

**Tyelkormo-Celegorm**

**Moryo-Caranthir's nickname**

**Curufinwe-Curufin**

**Yup. Yellow watermelons are a real thing. They are just like reg. watermelons, except they're yellow, and have a sweeter, honeyed flavor. **

**Well, now you all know about the epic House of Finwe family BBQs, including yellow watermelons, bratwursts, potato latkes with applesauce, corn on the cob, and Indis' super-duper special lemonade. You're welcome. XDXD**

**Anyway, thanks, and please review!**


	50. Image of Perfection:Amarie and Findarato

**The Image of Perfection**

"Catch me!" a young Vanyarin nis giggled, skipping backwards teasingly as the golden-haired prince of the Noldor chased after her.

She was faster than he, despite him being the older one.

She threw back her head and laughed in delight, bright golden locks billowing above her in the wind as she danced before him, fair hair framing her pale childish face while it caught the light of the Trees.

They were young, elflings, but old enough to recognize and somewhat understand the inexplicable pull they had felt to one another since the day they had first met, barely three years ago.

"Amarie, wait up!" the little ner cried in exasperation, skidding to a stop and looking around him in confusion.

She had disappeared.

"Up here, silly!" the maiden cried fondly, from somewhere near the top of a great tall tree. "If you want me, you'll have to climb up and get me."

The prince sighed, picking a bright marigold and holding it between his teeth as he made his way up the tree, springing from branch to branch until he reached her.

She smiled warmly, eyes sparkling in the beautiful light filtering in through the leaves sheltering them.

He carefully placed the flower behind her ear, and they sat down side by side, legs dangling from the branch.

"Amarie and Findarato, together forever." she sighed, leaning her head down on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be mine, Amarie." he begged nervously, milky sky-blue eyes searching her soft grey ones earnestly.

"Yes, I do promise. But will you promise me something in return?"

"Certainly. What is it?"

"That you will never leave me alone."

"Never. Amarie and Findarato, together forever."

***sobs* why must they be parted?! WHYYYYYYY!?**

**Anyway, for some weird reason, the song 'Alright' by Supergrass kept on playing through my head as I did this one...weeeiiird...**

**Findarato-Finrod**

**Anyway, see you guys later! Have a great day, and please review!**


	51. Destruction:On Galadriel and Celeborn

**Destruction**

_"__Ata! Ata!" Nerwen cried excitedly, bounding into her father's obliging lap._

_"__Oh my dear, dear little Nerwen, my little princess." he sighed, burying his face into her giggling head, nuzzling her affectionately. "You know," he continued, drawing back thoughtfully, "I always knew you were coming. Your Amil, she is so cute, I said to her, 'Amme,'"_

_"__No, Ata! You would not have called her Amme, you would have called her Earwen." she giggled, raising her eyebrows at her father rather disapprovingly for his error. _

_"__Right! I said to her, 'Earwen, I just know we are going to have an adorable little princess just like you together.' And I was right! Of course," he added, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper for all to hear, "we thought our princess had come when our dear Findarato popped out, but it seems we were wrong."_

_"__Atar!" Findarato protested from where he was trying to paint a now fiercely giggling Amarie trying to muffle her mirth with a hand, all to no avail._

_"__Ata, can I tell you a secret?" Nerwen whispered, and he nodded. "I love you."_

_"__I love you too, my dear little princess."_

_.._

Alatariel's face contorted somewhere between a smile and a frown as she laid her head on the pillar beside her, trying in vain to stifle a sob.

"Alatari, is something wrong? Why do you cry so?" Celeborn demanded worriedly, putting his arm around his wife in comfort.

"I-I was just...remembering...a dear memory, from long ago...it was from before Feanaro forged those wretched silmarilli. Before everything fell apart. Oh, how I wish nothing had changed! How I wish that we were all still there together, a happy family in a happy land. I never told anybody how much I loved it, but I did love it, very much." she hiccuped, burying her face into his obliging shoulder, quaking with suppressed tears.

"But, 'tari..." Celeborn protested quietly, drawing her up gently by the chin to look him in the eye, "If all that had never happened, then you would never have met me."

She smiled at this, one tear escaping her eyes at last.

"Then I suppose I shall have something to thank uncle Feanaro for, next time we meet."

**There you have it, a little Galadriel/Celeborn, because they just do not get enough love...**

***in case you were wondering, that first italicized part was a memory***

**Ata/Atar-daddy, dad**

**Findarato-Finrod**

**Amarie-Finrod's lover**

**Nerwen-Galadriel**

**Alatariel/Alatari/'tari-Galadriel(this is the lovey-dovey epesse Celeborn gave her in his own tongue)**

**Feanaro-Feanor(yes, she did use the Quenya form of his name here. I think that she generally would have used the Sindarin form while in Beleriand, if she ever talked about him at all, but in the rare emotional moments like this when she loses control, I figure some lapsing into Quenya might start happening...)**

**Anyway, thanks and please enjoy and review!  
:D  
Have a great day!**


	52. Stealing:On Mairon

**Stealing**

"Very good work, my children." Aule's great booming voice was rich with kindness as he looked over his Maiar's work, smiling even wider when he came to Mairon, leaning over and conspiratorially whispering in his ear, "My son, it appears there is someone waiting for you." he nodded his head in the direction of the great doorway to his forge, wherein hovered a slender figure clad in soft grays and lavenders, before moving on to his next pupil.

Mairon smiled shyly, pushing a lock of his thick orange-red hair away from his afce as he approached her.

"Olorime."

"Mairon." she smiled warmly, rising up on tip-toe and giving him a quick, affectionate kiss on the cheek.

"Not out in front of everybody like that!" he protested quietly, flustered and blushing, much to the amusement of the other Maiar mingling around Aule's forge as they began to leave.

"Sorry," she giggled, not at all apologetic, light silvery eyes twinkling mischievously.

Her thick, curly, shoulder-length silver-white hair bounced up and down as she blew the room a farewell kiss before flouncing out on Mairon's arm, much to his bashful delight.

He had first beheld Olorime in the great music, hearing her soft, tender, rich voice and being enchanted by it.

"Does Este not have duties for you?" Mairon asked as she dragged him over the greens and towards the edge of the woods.

"Yes, but I want to show you something first. Look." she parted the branches before them, revealing a mother wolf with three little cubs suckling her.

Mairon's eyes grew huge with excitement and adoration.

"I know how you love wolves." she giggled as he knelt down beside her, tentatively reaching out and petting one of the cubs lovingly.

Melkor watched silently from behind a tree, a malicious smile slowly creeping over his dark countenance as he beheld the two enthusiastic Maiar cuddling the wolf pups fondly.

Melkor's smile grew wider, baring teeth.

He had figured it out.

It was that cute female Maia that was keeping Mairon good.

All he would need to do was get him alone, and then the seduction would begin.

Mairon did not stand a chance, Melkor could feel it.

He would be able to steal him away soon.

***eye of Sauron blasts onto the screen* wow...a lot sure happened in a few ages...o_O**

**Mairon-Sauron(he was a good little Maia of Aule at first!)**

**Melkor-Morgoth(how would he even get into Orome's woods anyway...O_O)**

**Olorime-OC, a Maia of Este, and Mairon's cute girlfriend who believes in him and loves him very much. :( Poor Olorime...**

**Anyway...I have to go now, but I hope you enjoyed and have a great day!**

**Please review! They next drabble is gonna be and angsty one about Maeglin...the one you've all been waiting for...XDXD...because you can't see the prompt 'Betrayal' and not think Maeglin...XDXD...**


	53. Betrayal:On Maeglin

**Betrayal **

They say that I betrayed them.

They turn their heads away from me when I walk by, they scowl and whisper about my deeds when I am not there.

They say that I betrayed them.

But was I not betrayed first?

You, Turgon, you promised to take care of me.

You said that you would love me and give me a place.

But then you betrayed me for the love of the son of an old friend, letting him take my place in your heart, though you deny it when I accuse you now.

And you, Idril, you told me you felt sorry for me, and that I had your love.

You winked at me once, when you were dancing at the first festival held since my arrival at Gondolin, your fair and cloistered city.

When I brought it up later your eyes grew dark and you said you did not remember ever winking at me, yet you _did_.

You promised when I first came that you would look after me, because we were cousins and only had Turgon between us.

And then that awful flaxen-haired _mortal_ came, and you forgot about all that.

And then, you say, I betrayed you.

But really, what left was there to betray?

What trust, what friendship are you imagining when you say that I betrayed you?

It is not as if I had a choice, anyway.

So I betrayed you, and I sought revenge for myself with all you who said you cared but only hurt me, even though you are surprised now when I tell you what you did or said stung.

I wonder what I would have done if I had succeeded, if Tuor and Earendil were gone and you, Idril, were mine.

I do not like to think about it now, because I know in my heart that you would have reminded me too much of my mother, and I would have let you go anyway.

**So, there you go, Maeglin drabble, as promised, because, as I said before: You just can't see the prompt 'Betrayal' and not think 'Maeglin'.**

**No, I was not taking Maeglin's side...I was simply channeling him. :/ I do not think he acted righteously, rather that there might be a deeper, darker side to this story, and that Maeglin may not have been the only wrong one. Just sayin'. Please don't kill me...**

**:/**

**Have a great day, and please review!**


	54. Language Lesson:On Nienor

**Language Lesson**

"Niniel, Niniel, wake up!" a girl's voice giggled excitedly from the doorway, causing her eyes to flutter open and her brow to furrow as she tried to recall the meaning of the words.

"Niniel, we have a surprise for you." another girl's voice added, making an effort to speak more slowly for Niniel's benefit.

"S-sur-pris?" Niniel choked the word out slowly and with difficulty, sitting up in bed and cocking her head to the side in confusion.

"Now, Thandis, we have not taught her 'surprise' yet."

"Oh yes, of course! Niniel, we have a treat for you."

"Ah..." Niniel murmured in understanding, climbing out of bed and joining the two apprentice healers by the doorway on unsteady legs, playing dreamily with the taller one's wavy auburn hair, making the girls laugh when she gasped as the lock curled around her fingers glinted fiery red in the morning sunlight.

"Come follow us to the kitchens, Niniel." the one with auburn hair invited, taking Niniel's hand and leading her down the hall, before turning to the other girl and marveling at a pace faster than their charge could yet comprehend, "It is amazing! She appears to have reached her majority, yet she acts as a newborn, marveling at the world full of new wonders around her, slowly learning our language. Perhaps the fever damaged her."

The other girl nodded in reply as they reached the kitchens, pushing aside the piece of plain linen covering a small basket to reveal a cluster of fresh muffins within.

Niniel's eyes widened, and she began to sniff the air with interest, almost like a little dog on the hunt.

The girl reached in and brought out a muffin, breaking it in half, allowing some of the heat to escape.

"For you," she offered, holding out a steaming half to Niniel, causing her eyes to widen even more.

"But...am I allowed?"

"Yes, Brandir said you could have some."

Niniel took the piece of soft muffin gingerly, bringing it to her mouth and taking a tentative nibble, watching the girls' faces to see if she was doing it right.

They nodded enthusiastically before each taking a muffin for themselves, giggling when Niniel gasped at the new and delicious taste.

"It is called a 'muffin'."

"M-muffin?"

"Yes."

"Niniel likes muffins."

**This story is set shortly after Niniel(Nienor)has recovered from her fever upon being rescued by Turin, and is just being eased onto solid food again. **

**Niniel-Nienor**

**Thanks for reading, and have a great day!**


	55. Falling:On Celegorm

**Falling**

The recently reembodied sons of Feanor sat quietly around the dinner table, listening as Maedhros read the letter from Anaire aloud.

"They shall be arriving in two days' time: Anaire, Uncle, Finde," he paused briefly as he read the name of his half-cousin, smiling happily to himself before continuing on, "also Turu and little Arakano-"

"Little! He is near as tall as you, if not taller!" Curufin interrupted, scoffing.

Maedhros simply raised an eyebrow at his little brother, replying "I will always remember most fondly the times when he was still little, for at those times our families were most at peace. Elenwe will also come, as will Irisse and her son, and-oh! Little Arakano's engaged! And he is bringing his betrothed with him-"

"I told you, he is not little!"

_Irisse._

_His beautiful, funny, brave Irisse._

_He had managed not to think of her for so long now that it felt like he was plummeting off the edge of a cliff, falling too fast to even get his own thoughts in order._

_He had only two days before she arrived._

"I feel like I'm going to throw up..." Celegorm groaned, slumping in his seat, head in hands.

"Turko! Oh, I knew that maid was trying to poison us!" Caranthir cried in barely concealed fear for his elder brother, leaping up in concern.

"No, it's not that-" _It was that she had gone off and married some random Moriquendi, even though she had always told him she liked light hair better. It was because she had never responded to any of his letters, had a son with said random Moriquendi, and then suddenly just dropped off the face of the earth. _He cut himself off by clamping a hand over his mouth out of necessity and hurrying out of the room on shaky legs, the feeling of plummeting still hanging heavily over him.

His other brothers rose in alarm, and Caranthir rushed out after him.

Only Maedhros remained seated, smiling thoughtfully to himself and murmuring to nobody is particular, "I always knew he had a thing for Irisse. I certainly hope he doesn't do something like that when she comes to visit in a couple days."

***sigh* Poor Celegorm...**

**Partially inspired by **Hedley** lyrics from the song '**Perfect**':**

**"Falling a thousand feet per second, you still take me by ****surprise. I just know we can't be over, I can see it in your eyes."**

**Arakano-Argon**

**Finde-Fingon**

**Turu-Turgon**

**Irisse-Aredhel**


	56. Oaths:On Legolas and Gimli

**Oaths**

"You think that one's a kicker, just wait 'til ya' hear this one!" Gimli cried as he took another swig of beer, before uttering a most unrepeatable Dwarvish curse that set Legolas choking on the liquor he had been shifting around in his mouth, covering his reddening face with delicate elvish hands as he tried not to laugh once he had sufficiently recovered.

"Goodness, Laddie, the things you learn from Dwarvish curses-why, I got most of my education from 'em! But, goodness, I couldn't look at things the same way again after hearing some of 'em."

"Dwarves are so coarse." Legolas snickered fondly into his beer once he could speak again.

Gimli looked up at this, eyebrows raised.

"If you think _we_ are coarse-you should have heard the things your father muttered once when he stubbed his toe when he thought nobody was watching! My father heard it when they were taking him away to the jail cells, and he said he nearly fainted dead away! And my father, he's as tough as they come!"

The two howled with laughter at this, slapping each other on the back and swearing by the most profane oaths they could muster to remain the best of friends forever, and to together craft a whole new set of Dwarvish-Elvish fusion curses for use throughout the fourth age and beyond.

**Because this drabble collection was really yearning for some Legsie and Gimli...I can't believe I've never really written at all about then...DX**

**Please review, and have a fantabulous day!**


	57. First In Mind:On Luthien

**First In Mind**

I am so very happy and content here with Beren, I cannot put my joy into words.

What we have is true, blind, real.

It is more than I could have ever hoped for, which is why I find the face other than his which lives forever in my mind disturbing and confusing.

'Luthien,' Daeron had asked my, nervous yet hopeful, 'will you have me?'

I refused.

I liked him, he was not a bad person, and I would have been very pleased if we could have been able to be good friends.

Sometimes, when I lie awake at night or walk about the garden or stir the soup for dinner, I wonder about what would have happened if I had said yes.

What would it have been like to be married to Daeron?

It will always be an eternal mystery for me.

The only thing I know for certain is that he would have often played music that I would have danced to. Beren is not much good at instruments, he prefers to watch me dance instead.

I think back on it and wonder what I could have done differently, but in the end I know that I would still have broken his heart, no matter what I had said in refusing him.

It is a hard thing, knowing that you have broken someone's heart, especially someone you would have been glad to be friends with for all time.

I love Beren very much, I truly do, but sometimes I cannot help but wonder...

What if I had said yes?

**Ooooooh...a darker side to the Beren+Luthien story...**

**Don't quite know where this one came from...**

**Oh, by the way, speaking of Beren and Luthien, have any of you guys seen the album cover for **Blind Guardian**'s album, '**Nightfall over Middle Earth'**? It's really neat...**

**Have a great day and please review!**


	58. Cowardice:Caranthir and Haleth

**Cowardice **

"Haleth, before you leave, I...I have something I wish to say." Caranthir stuttered, stopping Haleth in the doorway.

She turned to face him, her eyes widening as she beheld his countenance.

"Caranthir, you are so pale! And you are sweating so suddenly, oh dear, you must be coming down with something, lay down and I will call the healers!" she cried in dismay, beginning to push the spluttering Elf-lord down onto his couch.

"No, Haleth, my lady, I am not ill." he protested, pushing her hands away, breathing hard.

"What are you, then?"

_A coward._

"I...I just wanted to say..." Caranthir tried again, trailing off as his lips tried again and again to form the words they sought. "...stay safe. Take care of yourself." he finally spat out weakly, impulsively laying a hand on her arm.

"I shall try, Lord Caranthir." Haleth nodded coldly, turning and moving towards the door.

"Haleth!" he cried, and she stopped again, not turning back around this time.

"If...if you are ever around here again...if you ever want to come back-"

"I shall try." she replied levelly, disappearing out through the doorway to go and prepare her people to move on, leaving Caranthir all alone again, head in hands at another missed opportunity, knowing her promise was an empty one.

**CARANTHIR/HALETH ANGST! WHOOP!**

**(c'mon guys, it's practically canon)**

**And now you all know my weakness...poor Moryo...we loveses him so much... ;(**


	59. Hierarchy:The Sons of Feanor

**Hierarchy **

"You know what I shall do when we meet King Olwe's sons? I am going to go 'Ah, hello hello, my friends!'" Tyelkormo cried in an exaggerated Telerin accent, grabbing an unwilling Curufinwe by the cheeks and kissing him enthusiastically all over his face until he was shoved away.

"Now, Turko, do not mock the Teleri so. Their customs may be different from ours, but they are a good and well-meaning people." Makalaure chided, mopping up a disgusted Curufinwe's wet face with the wide strip of fabric he had been using as a headband.

He had barely finished speaking when a little Telerin boy skipped over to them, smiling brightly.

"Welcome to Alqualonde, you must be the great sons of Feanaro! We hope you enjoy your stay!"

"What are you, twenty?" Carnister asked snappishly, mocking the page-boys short Telerin stature.

"Nope! Guess again!" he giggled, blowing Ambarto a kiss as he skipped away, singing merrily to the wind.

"He must have thought you a nis!" Ambarussa crowed the moment he was out of sight, doubling over with laughter as his miffed twin swatted at him playfully, smiling.

"When you were babies, Amil always did call you her russet princess..." Maitimo trailed off speculatively, giving his brothers a conspiratorial wink.

Ambarto's splutters were muffed by a low whistle from Tyelkormo, who raised his eyebrows at a lovely, slender, silver-haired nis who fairly floated by, soft pink parasol poised delicately above her head.

"Who is she?" he asked nobody in particular, eyes following her as she turned off to a little side-road that led down to the sea, it seemed as if every path in Alqualonde eventually did.

"I know not, but she is positively celestial." Curufinwe murmured dreamily, drawing an imaginary circle around her faintly glowing aura with a finger as she disappeared up and over a little sand dune and out of sight, letting out a much-too-happy sigh that set Carnister choking.

"Oh dear Curvo, say it is not so! I cannot have my darling little brother marrying a Telerin nis!" he cried, half-mocking yet half-serious, grabbing onto his dreamy sibling melodramatically.

"If I was Atar, I should disown you if you got involved with her." Tyelkormo stated gravely, eyes twinkling with mirth all the while.

"Disown me, then." Curufinwe huffed, starting down the ridge after her, forgetting completely about all the political duties they had come there to perform.

"I foresee in our futures a little silver-haired boy..." Maitimo announced cryptically, eyes taking on a faraway look that left the twins hysterical.

"Oh, say it is not so!" Carnister cried again, before they all collapsed upon each other, laughing themselves silly, leading many of the bemused passing Teleri to wonder if the Noldor were really as insane as their neighbors said.

**...and elvish racism goes both ways...**

**In case any of you were wondering, that little silver-haired boy is gonna be Celebrimbor. XD**

**Feanaro-Feanor**

**Maitimo-Maedhros**

**Makalaure-Maglor**

**Tyelkormo-Celegorm**

**Carnister-Caranthir**

**Curufinwe/Curvo-Curufin**

**Ambarto-Amrod**

**Ambarussa-Amras**

**nis-elf-maid**

**When Tyelkormo goes 'what are you, twenty?' to the scribe, it is like a person saying 'what're you, eight?' *elvish age difference* hehe...**

**Please review, and have a great day!**


	60. Wayward:Mithrellas and Nellas

**Wayward**

"Are you lost?" a friendly yet quiet voice asked suddenly, breaking the long silence of the forest and making Mithrellas jump, surprised.

It was rare for anyone to be able to sneak up on her.

"Who are you?" she asked levelly, appearing calm although her skin prickled with fear and apprehension.

"I am called Nellas." the voice replied, and a small limber elleth accompanied it, dropping down from the branches above, smiling as she landed.

Her skin was a smooth, light-brown in color, and her dark brown hair hung loose about her shoulders.

"I-I am Mithrellas."

"Are you lost? I was lost once, for a long time, actually. I was lost on the inside and the outside. Now people still say I am lost, but though on the outside my wandering feet may make it seem that way, my heart and mind have found a direction to walk in. You, however, still seem lost, in both ways."

"How would you know?" Mithrellas asked defensively, wrapping her now-tattered shawl tightly around herself against the strange elleth.

"I have been watching you now for three days, and you seem lost indeed, and by the looks of it, you have recently had a baby. You look so tired, come, I know a good place for rest, and for stargazing." Nellas smiled invitingly, extending a hand to the slowly warming elleth before her.

"I like stargazing, and it is rather lonely to be all alone all the time." she decided slowly, hesitantly taking the hand Nellas offered with her own.

"Thank goodness! Watching you, I was starting to get worried. Now, can you climb trees?" she asked, leading her to the base of one.

"Of course!"

"Then follow me, up to the stars."

**Yep, these two elleth were created by Tolkien. They are not, in fact, OCs. XD**

**Nellas-A reclusive but friendly elleth of Doriath, she lived in the woods around the city, never venturing inside. Few elves even knew she existed, but she was friends with Queen Melian, Beleg, and Turin. Melian asked her to keep watch over little Turin as he played in the woods, and she did for some time without him knowing it, although she would come down from her trees and converse with him, and they became good friends(that's how she got to know Beleg). Later at the trial for the Turin and Saeros matter, she testified for Turin, and won him pardon, as she was the only observer of the entire affair. Her end and whereabouts are now unknown, and it is plausible that she still wanders the woods somewhere, watching over the forest and those within it.**

**Mithrellas-A member of Nimrodel's company, she was lost in the mountains along with her lady, but found her way out. She was later taken in by a Numenorian called Imrazor, who she eventually married and bore two children, before disappearing one night, never to be seen by her family again. **

**Anyway...**

**Please review, and have a great day!**


	61. Connecting the Dots:Maglor and Maedhros

**Connecting the Dots**

"Maglor, Maglor, look!" the twins giggled, rushing up to the Noldo and nearly bowling each other over in the process, barely able to contain themselves.

"What have you done to yourselves..." Maglor murmured in horror, eyes widening as he wondered what to make of the two faces, scribbled over with dark crisscrossing lines.

"We connected the dots!" Elrond cried excitedly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, pulling up his pant leg and raising his bare calf, also covered in lines, up to Maglor for his perusal.

Maedhros laughed good-naturedly, sauntering over and putting an arm around Maglor as he beheld the enthusiastic twins.

"Do you not remember, Kano? The Ambarussa used to do this, connecting their freckles with a quill pen dipped in ink. But I suppose you wouldn't remember, you always were so caught up in your music those days, lost in your own little world all the time." Maedhros smiled fondly, squeezing his little brother lovingly against him, making the twins giggle.

"Ugh, Maedhros, save that for Finde." Maglor protested out of habit before remembering that Fingon was dead, pulling away half-heartedly and turning to the twins, raising a threatening eyebrow although he couldn't help smiling at their ridiculousness. "I suppose I get to scrub you both clean, now don't I?" they nodded, their giggling rising in intensity as Maedhros stage-whispered,

"This is why I never became a father." in Maglor's ear, causing the minstrel to frown slightly.

"I wish I had. I wonder how old he is now." he muttered regretfully to nobody in particular once the twins had made their hasty escape, causing Maedhros' mischievous smile to turn grim.

"You never told me-"

"Right before the darkening. The bump was just starting to show. We had decided to tell everyone soon, maybe within the week. And then everything happened, and I didn't want to add another weight to everyone's hasty hearts. She knew it was going to be a boy, you know how ellyth can sometimes feel things like that? And she had a simple pendant hastily engraved with the fathername we had decided on for him, her brother was a jewelry craftsman, remember?" he explained, slowly drawing the pendant out from underneath his tunic.

"Oh, Kano, I'm so sorry."

Maglor smiled the funny, sheepish little lopsided smile he had inherited from his mother, remarking,

"At least I have them. Sometimes I pretend they're mine." before turning on his heel, tucking the pendant back into his tunic as he went off in search of the boys, to finally give them the scrubbing they deserved.

**Finde-Fingon**

**Kano-Maglor**

**They're still using the old Quenya nicknames a little out of habit, although they(mostly Maglor)are trying to use Sindarin as much as possible for the twins. **

**Yup, cuteness and angst, all in one package(you're welcome)**

**Have a great day, and please review!**


	62. Fight On:Morwen and Rian

_**WARNING: Å¸This one might be a little higher rated than the others, but nothing to put big bells and whistles over, just a little higher. :)**_

**Fight On**

"Ugh," Morwen groaned wearily, casting another blood-soaked undergarment away from her and into the wash-bucket with distaste, "to be a woman is disgusting."

"I suppose it does have its trials." Rian agreed in that quiet way she had, putting her knitting to the side before rising to take the now boiling kettle off, away from the fire.

"Oh Rian, how can you always just be so calm and acceptant of everything?" Morwen asked her cousin in slight irritation, taking up Rian's mending and stitching a few holes shut for her, before returning to her own quilt.

"Well," she replied thoughtfully, pushing a wispy lock of mousy brown hair from her eyes and pursing her lips as she considered the question, "I like to think of the man I will someday meet, who I will want to make happiest in the world. Then I think of how glad I will be that I will be able to give him a child. It is nice to think that, even if I cannot get anything else worth mentioning done in my time here, I still have been given an amazing gift: that I can leave another person behind when I go.

There are little men and women coming, Morwen, and it is our duty to bring them here. People are amazing, complex, beautiful creatures, and are no easy task, but we must try.

So, anyway, you should always try your hardest to be good, and strong, and brave, but it is a nice thing, that even if you fail in those things, you can still give the world a person to try in your stead.

Even if you cannot be a person to be proud of yourself, you can still give someone else a chance." Rian finished, rather out of breath, smiling shyly at her cousin before busying herself with her knitting as if she had not said anything interesting at all.

"Rian, you really do never cease to surprise me with your little bits of insight." Morwen sighed fondly, brow furrowing in concentration as she struggled to tie a little knot with not enough thread, "Someday you will make somebody very happy you know, Rian."

"Well...I would not say that..."

"You just wait, someday you will realize I was right, dear girl." Morwen laughed in the smug way of one who knows a delicious secret, slipping Rian a crumpled note she had been told to deliver by a blushing warrior earlier that day, causing the poor girl to nearly faint dead away, much to her cousin's amusement.

**Now, before you all kinslay me over Morwen's characterization, I have to defend myself a little bit: I think that she is a brave, proud, and strong woman, who will never show weakness, especially in front of rivals. The only times she occasionally crumbles is around Rian, or her husband, but only occasionally and briefly(this drabble was one of those rare moments). She always tends to put the weight and responsibility of things on herself, and it gets to be pretty heavy sometimes. The problem with Morwen is that, at least the way I see it, she is always trying to push herself too hard, believing she can handle more than is realistic. She the kind of person who, when she was a kid, jumped off the roof of the great hall just because some other kid told her he didn't think she could, and then pretended she was all right after everyone was asking her if she was ok when she had broken at least one bone upon hitting the ground. :)**

**Anyway, if any of you guys don't know sweet little Rian's story, go look her up on Wikipedia or something and get your tear-buckets ready. :((**

**Have a great day, and please tell me what you thought in the review box!**


	63. Filling In the Gaps:Erestor and Elrond

**Note: As usual, Glorfindel and Erestor's relationship here is not meant as slash.(although if you wish to read it that way, that's totally fine with me. Have fun.) :))**

**Filling In the Gaps**

Elrond mumbled under his breath to himself as he skimmed through Erestor's just-completed full translation of 'The Greatest Battles of the First Age' from Quenya into Sindarin, ignoring the slightly nervous advisor fidgeting before him, awaiting his verdict on the long-awaited translation.

"This is very good," the Master of Imladris began, gently laying the the thick stack of papers down onto the desk before him and resting one cheek on a hand, "but it seems there is a part of the translation missing. It was supposed to be a _full_ translation, remember?"

Erestor stiffened. He had noticed.

"The portion of concern is 'The Fall of Gondolin.' I see you have provided a beautiful translation, with no details omitted, until we get to the Pass of Cristhorn. You have left out an entire part. Where is Glorfindel's famous duel with the Balrog?" Elrond asked quietly, not unkindly, rather in the way of a curious bystander.

"I...well...you see...I skip over that part every time I read it and I...just could not bear to...spend a great amount of time agonizing over a perfect translation. I am sorry, my lord." he stuttered, hanging his head as he admitted defeat.

"Do not apologize, Erestor. I only wish you had told me earlier so that I could have told one of the scribes to start work on a translation for that part. I am sorry I asked you to do it, I was not thinking. But Erestor, you look so tired, as if you shall faint away right here from exhaustion! I do not even want to know how much sleep you lost over translating that long work! I must insist that you take a nap immediately, then we can start arranging for an alternative translator for that section."

"Yes, my lord." Erestor replied submissively before turning on his heel and heading for his bedroom, not intending to sleep at all, rather to start work on the order for foreign spices due in two days' time.

Elrond, however, knew full-well of Erestor's intentions, and called after him: "And you had better get some good sleep in, or else I will send Glorfindel in after you, and you know he will not give you a moments peace to do anything, sleep or work; before you know it, he will have probably convinced you to take an extended trip to Far Harad with him!"

Erestor blanched at the idea, walking to his bedroom twice as fast with full intentions of sleeping when he got there.

**Lol, when I was writing this I started writing 'so that I could have told Lisondre to start work on a translation', but caught myself and changed it to a random scribe, just in case NirCele was feeling in a kinslaying mood(Lisondre is one of her OCs, which has sorta become canon in my mind, lol) XD**

**Have a great one, and please don't forget to review!**


	64. Half-way:Galadriel and Celeborn

**Half-way**

"Alatariel," it is Celeborn, peering cautiously around the doorway, silver hair shining almost white in the evening lamplight.

"Yes?" she turns from the flowers she is pressing, a smile forming on her lips.

"your brothers...I just received word..."

The smile vanishes, a bolt of hot, crazed fear flashing through her heart.

"The siege of Angband has been abruptly broken. The Dark One sent forth suddenly in the night great flames which ravaged the camps before anybody knew what was happening." he looks so tired, she notices, there are dark circles under his weary eyes, "I'm sorry." he steps towards her, wrapping long arms about her shoulders, so warm after the Great Ice that she has never seemed to truly escape.

She has craved his warmth from the moment she had first met him, soon after arriving in Middle Earth.

Her eyebrows draw together and her lips contort into an anguished frown as he holds her and the news strikes home, but there are no tears in her glassy eyes.

She has forgotten how to cry.

This feeling, it is too deep for tears. Tears are for scraped knees and lost loves, not for this.

This is the feeling of utter despair and anguish, it is the feeling of giving up.

It is the feeling that tore through her being when she found out that, after nearly fourteen long years, they were only half-way across the Helcaraxe.

"What are you pressing these flowers for?" he asks softly as he rocks her slowly back and forth, trying to break the unbearable silence.

"So that I may have something to remember it by when all this is gone." she whispers, knowing that nothing can last forever anymore.

**Alatariel-Galadriel**

***wails* Why so angsty, Muse, wwwhhhhyyyyyyy!?**

***ahem***

**Sorry about that.**

***smacks Muse***

***gets smacked back, twice as hard***

***rubs face regretfully***

**Sorry guys, but you can't argue with the Muse.**

***bows deeply before gravely offended Muse***

**Thanks for reading, and please tell me what you thought in the review box!(and have a fabulous(as in Thranduil)day!)**


	65. What Happens Now?:On Celegorm

**What Happens Now?**

Tyelkormo watches the Maia of Irmo quietly as she coos softly to the unicorns who nuzzle her hand in request for more treats, watches as she runs a brush through one's silky-soft mane with tender care.

He watches as a little colt, horn only barely showing, leans into her lovingly, and she murmurs to it in the language unicorns know.

He listens as her light, airy voice rises in sweet song for the unicorns; she treats her charges as if they were her children.

Tyelkormo smiles.

She is good with animals.

"What is it, Tyelkormo?" she asks calmly without even turning around.

He jumps, he did not realize she knew he was watching her. It frightens him a little that she has known he was there all along.

"I...I was just watching you. You are good with animals." he stutters, blushing slightly.

"Ah, thank you. Yes, I am in charge of the animals here in Lorien. After I finish with these dear unicorns, I was thinking of feeding those big fish in the great fountain over there."

"I know the one. Your job must be very enjoyable."

"I am not working if I am doing what I love. Tyelkormo," she asks as an afterthought, light blue eyes becoming serious, "what happens now? You cannot stay here in the Gardens of Lorien forever. You have been reborn, you have been given the chance to make yourself a new life, a new reality. What are you going to do with it?"

Tyelkormo finds her long white-blonde hair tied back in a fishnet braid off the top of her head strangely attractive as it sparkles in the sun. Surprising, he had always been more attracted to dark beauties in his past life.

"I know not," he replies slowly, cocking his head at her as he speaks, "I was thinking of building myself a nice hunting lodge, it would not be too hard to make room for unicorns, you know? And one of these days I would not mind getting myself hitched too. I never got married in my past life, but, as they say, 'It is never too late for love'." he cocks his head the other way at her, smiling in a way that he hopes is suggestive.

She blinks for a moment, surprised, before smiling and winking, saying, "The name's Elenya." before picking up the pail of fish-food and swaggering off towards the fountain, hips swinging deliciously with every step.

**Yeah, so much angsty stuff I just needed to give someone a happy ending. XD**

**And yes, there are Unicorns in Lorien. You read that right. XD In the Silmarillion, Tolkien does say that Valinor included all the animals on earth, and others too...:D:D**

**Tyelkormo-Celegorm**

**Elenya-maia of Irmo, my OC**

**Please review, and have a great day!**


	66. Tears:Maedhros on Elwing

**Tears**

The hot tears were burned off his cheeks as he fell, plunging into the fiery abyss below.

And finally he knew, knew what it must have felt like for her all those years ago, soaring down through the harsh sea-wind and into the icy cold ocean with a splash and no scream.

He had always wondered what it had felt like.

He had lain awake at night, wondering what it had been like to fall like that, to plummet to your death.

Well now he knew.

_He saw her first, a dark phantom in shimmering blue, running out from a rocky sea-cave._

_"__Search the cave!" he yelled and Maglor nodded before he, Maedhros, sped after her._

_He could see it in her hands, twinkling brightly through the gaps in her fingers as she ran._

_He had never known a maiden to run so fast, she fairly flew! And it was all he could do to keep up with her._

_He smiled as they neared the cliff, the edge, the end._

_She would have to stop and give up the Silmaril to him when she reached it._

_He watched as she barely slowed down at the edge, looking down and then looking back at him, eyes hard, tears like pearls of glass on her dark lashes, radiant from the gem's light._

_He remembered how his own eyes had widened, realizing what she intended to do._

_"__No, my lady, stop! Do not jump! Stop!" he cried in horror, voice rising with a last cry as she turned and leapt from the cliffside and up into the clear night sky, thick dark hair billowing behind her in the wind, "I never wanted this!"_

_He turned away in horror, not having the heart to look for her body, surely floating forlornly now, cradled by the current._

Well now he knew.

The memory of a cool night and a sea breeze subsided to a reality of hot fires and scalding smoke, and he wondered if her tears joined the sea as his joined the smoke, never to be seen again.

**Ugh, I'm sick and feeling miserable right now...DX...your welcome for the Maedhros and Elwing angst(gosh, I really don't write enough about her)**

**Anyway, have a great day, and please review!(thanks to all those who are reviewing me, you all are so great, you guys are the fuel this drabble collection runs on!)**

**:D**


	67. Earth:On Maglor

**Earth**

Maglor does not like to be in buildings with elevators.

He can feel the ground moving beneath his feet, and it is an awful, unsettling feeling.

He likes to take walks in parks instead.

Sometimes, he disappears for days at a time, letting himself get lost in the forest.

He likes to listen to light, calming synthetic music and reach for butterflies just out of range, with his feet planted firmly on the earth.

On the earth he is bound to.

He likes to stare at himself for hours in the mirror, trying to find things in his face that remind him of his family.

Of his brothers.

It is not too hard.

His face has not changed much over the years, except that he added a silver highlight to his hair.

Thinking back on it afterwards, he wonders why he got it.

Maybe he did it just because he could.

He likes to stay up late slumped on his decades old couch, watching the collector's edition of 'I Love Lucy', an old black and white sitcom, even though now you can watch movies in 3-D.

He watches it, but does not laugh as the the recorded audience does.

Instead he remembers meeting her once, Lucy, when she was in middle-school, then again, just a week before her death, and then reading about it later in the paper.

She did not remember him when they met the second time, but he remembered.

He remembers everything.

He likes to put magnets with empowering quotes on his fridge, and weave placemats out of the newspapers he doesn't have the heart to read anymore.

He likes to watch the little kids sing a Christmas, and to sometimes put a little bit of lipstick on, because, in a weird way, it reminds him of the wife he hasn't seen in so long, her face is like and old, faded photograph in his mind.

He likes to whisper secrets to the reeds, and scrub graffiti off walls.

But most of all he just likes to take walks in the park, and feel the solid earth-his earth-beneath his feet again.

**(when I am in buildings with elevators, I can sometimes feel the ground move slightly, like a minor earthquake. I do not know if this is an experience unique to me or not, but I am gonna give Maglor the excuse that he has keen elven sensory stuff. :P)**

**By 'wife' we are referring to his canon wife, whom he left behind in Valinor upon swearing The Oath and departing for Middle Earth. :( so sad...**

**'I Love Lucy' was an old black and white sitcom, look it up if you're curious. :)) It stars Lucy(Lucille Ball), and her husband, Ricky(Desi Arnaz). Lucy is the one Maglor(in this drabble)once met, before and after she was famous. I think I should also add that I do not own nor do I claim to own I Love Lucy, or anything else recognizable. Thank you, and please have a good one and review. :D**


	68. Fellow Sufferer:Fingon and Maedhros

_***sighs* this warning is getting a little old... IMPORTANT: Although I am a die-hard Russingon shipper, I am **_**not**_**, as I'm sure is clear by now, including any slash in this drabble collection. In this drabble, I am writing Maedhros and Fingon as best friends forever, super close, brothers-not-by-blood, etc. However, if you have more fun in doing so, by all means read this as Russingon! :))**_

_**Anyways, however you read this, I hope you enjoy!**_

_**(this story takes place recently after the rescue of Maedhros, when he is still healing)**_

**Fellow Sufferer **

"Happy Begetting-day, Russo!" Fingon cried, appearing suddenly, smiling sunnily in the doorway, hands obscured behind his back.

Maedhros managed to smile weakly from his bed as Fingon loped over, looking far-too-pleased with himself for Maedhros' comfort.

"Thank you. You did not have to remember."

"But I did! Now, take a deep sniff."

Maedhros obeyed, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath in.

He smiled.

"Oh, Finde, you are baking me raspberry streusel bars! You shouldn't have!" Maedhros sighed happily, the fruity, buttery aroma becoming stronger and more delectable by the minute.

Maedhros reopened his eyes to look at Fingon, but he frowned as he noticed his friend trying not to squirm and wince, hands still behind his back.

"Finde, is something wrong?"

"No."

"What do you have behind your back?"

Fingon looked like he was trying not to stifle childish giggles as his hands appeared, a small baby fox clutched between them.

It seemed rather playful and nippy, which explained the wincing.

Maedhros smiled.

"Happy Begetting-day, dear Russo! A foxling, just for you." as Fingon handed him the friendly baby fox, Maedhros noticed for the first time the absence of one of its legs.

A three-legged foxling.

"Some of my huntsmen found him, mangled and orphaned, he was caught in a trap. I have been bringing him up, and now he is ready for you! I found you a little fellow sufferer, what do you think?"

Maedhros chuckled softly as the fox nuzzled his bare and bandaged chest, petting it fondly.

"I love him." then he snickered mischievously as Fingon kissed the little fellow on the tip of the nose, "How jealous poor Turko will be."

Fingon laughed outright at this, giving Maedhros a light kiss as well, on the forehead instead of the nose, before hurrying away to get the raspberry squares before they burned.

**Finde-Fingon**

**Russo-Maedhros **

**Turko-Celegorm**

**Thanks so much, oh reviewers! :D Please have a truly epic day(or night, or whatever it is for you right now), and please review!**


	69. Count Down:Voronwe and Tuor

_**Once again, not slash, rather, close friendship(but it can be slash if you have more fun that way) :)**_

**Count Down**

Voronwe began to close the window, but stopped abruptly as he noticed a little ladybug of an orange-ish hue nestled in a little crack on the outside of the sill, right where the closing window would have crushed it, separated from him by a pane of glass.

"Ladybug," he whispered, not wanting to hurt the little creature, as he eased the window shut, "you have five more seconds: five, four, three," the ladybug did not move, "two, one." it still had not moved, and now that he thought about it, it looked like it was just out of the way enough that it would not get crushed.

"One." he said again, closing the window with a click.

He frowned in dismay, he had been wrong.

It had been crushed, the little pieces of wing and ladybug insides on the sill were evidence of that.

Voronwe's frown deepened.

He had not wanted to kill the little creature.

He wondered now why it had failed to move.

Maybe it had been sleeping?

Or perhaps already dead?

Surely it would have moved if it had been alive, seeing the window closing in upon it.

A tear sprung to his eye.

What an unfair, sad thing it was, that such a little defenseless creature should not realize what death looked like until it was too late...

His musings were interrupted by strong arms wrapping around his waist and hot, excited breath on his neck.

He jumped, surprised, before relaxing as he realized who it was.

"Voronwe, you never will guess!" Tuor exclaimed rather giddily, "The lady Idril kissed me! Imagine, the positively celestial princess of Gondolin, kissing me!"

Voronwe raised his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth twitching mutinously upwards, before he managed in a sarcastic monotone, "Fabulous, now the lady Idril will probably catch your cold, I think I am already starting to catch it myself."

"Oh, Voronwe!" Tuor exclaimed in frustration, squeezing him even tighter, "I can see you are trying not to smile."

Voronwe laughed outright at this, patting Tuor's sweaty hands.

"I am very happy for you, my friend, but do calm down! You are already shaking with adrenaline."

"How can you ask me to calm down when I am the happiest man in the world?" Tuor inquired with disbelief, before releasing Voronwe and spinning away, voice rising in joyful song as he fairly danced through the house, doing all the chores Voronwe had been asking him to do for the last week, leaving the elf by the window, chuckling to himself, already counting down the days in his head until the wedding, and wondering if Idril would let him live with them after it.

"After all," he said aloud, addressing the dead ladybug, "Tuor is all I have anymore."

**So there you go, now you get a taste of my Voronwe characterization. I think that he, while being a strong, super awesome sailor and adventurer, is also a rather sensitive type, the kind of guy who has sympathy for the little bug he accidentally killed. **

**And yes, elves can get sick in Middle Earth:**

"Apart from all the men and women, another curious aspect of the passage quoted above is its two references to sickness. Though the Prophecy of Mandos contained in The Silmarillion explicitly states that Elves cannot suffer from sickness, different versions say otherwise. A comment made in BoLT1 has wording that indicates that Elves, at least in Middle-earth, WILL suffer from sickness (in direct opposition to their illness-free life in Valinor). Compare 'no sickness may assail you' (Silmarillion, p 88) with 'never would they have made the dreadful passage of the Qerkaringa had they or yet been subject to weariness, sickness, and the many weaknesses that after became their lot dwelling far from Valinor.' (Book of Lost Tales 1, p 166).

In another example, HoME4 shows a shift in phrasing to show that while 'Elves were immortal, and free from all sickness,' in one draft, Tolkien changed this to 'Elves were immortal, and free from death by sickness' (Shaping of Middle-earth, p 21). So while Elves could indeed become sick, they could not die from their ailments. Death still may only occur through injury or fading.

From the viewpoint of linguistic analysis, the Qenya Lexicon lists several words relating to sickness, including _cough, cold, sneeze, nausea, disease,_ and _invalid_."

_(quoted from the marvelous essay, 'Elvish Fanons and Canon Contradictions' by 'Darth Fingon' from the Silmarillion Writer's Guild., which I did not write, nor claim to have written. All credit for that quote goes to 'Darth Fingon', not me, I, unfortunately, had nothing to do with it.)_

**Anyway, thanks for reading, have a good one, and please review!**


	70. Hot:Elrond and Elros

**Just so you know, I am using 'hot' as in temperature, not as in attractive. :)**

**Hot**

"Immortality." Elrond decided without a second thought, before turning confidently towards Elros, waiting for the same word to come forth in the same way from a mouth that looked just like his, save for a small scar on his twin's upper lip.

There was no doubt. Of course he would choose the same, why would he not? They belonged together.

"Mortality." he murmured, avoiding Elrond's eyes and focusing instead on the small Feanorian star Maglor had sewn onto the edge of his tunic at Elros' request many years ago, because, as he had explained to the surprised minstrel, they belonged to each other, like father and son.

A sudden hot fear surged through Elrond's body at the unexpected word, over his back and across his face and down his thighs, piercing and prickling like a million scalding needles.

Surely, he had just failed to hear the 'I'?

Elros caught his confused and dismayed gaze despite his valiant attempts not to, and, turning his face to the sky and squeezing his eyes shut he cried, "Mortality! I choose to be mortal!"

At those words Elrond's world crumbled around him and he felt himself falling, falling, falling into darkness. Into nothingness.

He had always been prone to fainting, while Elros never had. When they were very young, their mother, Elwing, had told him that it was because he got too over-excited over things, and that his constitution was weaker than Elros'. When their mother was gone, Elros had helped him to calm down and avoid embarrassing situations, but sometimes he had still fainted, and Elros had always been there to catch him.

But not this time.

As he hit the ground, Elrond felt as if he, his life, his very soul was shattered into a million pieces, spraying out over the world like a glass cup dropped from an inattentive grasp, too many pieces to ever pick back up again.

The last thing he heard as his world faded into darkness was Elros' voice, cold and faraway, not hot and brave and excited, the way it always used to be.

"I am sorry it had to be this way, Elrond."

**ok guys, I have to share this realization I had about Elrond and Elros the other day:**

**Maglor named Elrond(star cave)and Elros(star foam)because of how he found them, Elrond hiding back in a cave and Elros playing in the water outside it. Wouldn't that mean...*drumroll*...that Elrond and Elros aren't their original names? What were the names their parents gave them, that their family and friends pre-kinslaying knew them by? **

**Interesting, isn't it? Please tell me what you think of my theory in the review box(and what you thought of this drabble as well)!**

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and have a great day!**


	71. Celebration:On Imrahil and Finduilas

**Celebration**

"Oh Imrahil," Finduilas sighed, toying with a lock of her damp, loose dark hair as she lay calmly on the bed, covered by an old quilt, "you shall miss the Yule festivities if you stay in here with me, I shall be well very soon: please, go out and enjoy yourself."

Imrahil did not reply, merely shaking his head and leaning back against her bed-frame from where he sat on the ground, playing silently with carved wooden figures.

"Imrahil, darling, it is not serious, I shall likely be up on my feet again tomorrow morning, and you will miss the celebration if you sit with me all night."

"What will I do when you are gone, Finduilas?" he murmured suddenly, more to himself than to his older sister, eyes focusing tiredly on the little whittled knights he was gently tapping against one another in a listless manner.

"That is hardly something for a little boy to be thinking about, Imrahil. And who knows, perhaps I shall outlast you." she chuckled, quirking a weary smile at his quiet, somber face. He smiled back, a weak, little smile for her; although both of them knew in their hearts that she would go first-already he could pick her up and carry her about, she five years older than he, for she was so light and thin, and frequently ill like she was at the moment. Once he had carried her all the way back from the seashore to their home when she had grown very faint all at once, only a few months ago.

"If you left, I should be very gloomy, so gloomy that it would make even Ivriniel sad, and that would have to be exceptionally gloomy, for Ivriniel smiles about everything. " he murmured, playing with a loose thread hanging off the end of her quilt.

"As for me, little brother, if I shall live by the sea and die by the sea, then I shall be perfectly happy." she sighed quietly, and he nodded.

"Yes, me too."

() () () ()

"Uncle, come, join in the Yule festivities, they won't last forever, you know!" Faramir cried joyfully, wrapping his arms around his uncle's neck, half-drunk face smiling almost giddily in the dancing firelight.

Imrahil had often wondered why Faramir was always so intimate with him, ever since he had been a little child, reaching out and holding his uncle's hand when he wouldn't suffer anyone else to touch him. When he had asked Boromir, the boy had said it was because Imrahil looked so much like their mother.

"I'd rather not-" but Imrahil stopped, as if suddenly remembering something, before shaking his head and smiling. "Oh, all right, Faramir, I shall come out and perform a full Dol Amrothian Yule dance, if that is what you are after."

Faramir's face lit up as he pulled him out of his corner and into a circle of youths like himself, whispering in his ear as he went, "Dance it the way mother used to."

**At the beginning of this drabble, Imrahil is about ten and Finduilas about fifteen. For those unaware, happy-peppy Ivriniel is their elder sister, separated from Finduilas by three years, from Imrahil by eight. At the end of this drabble, Imrahil is an adult, and Faramir(his nephew, Finduilas is Faramir's mom)is a teenager. Yule is(from what I could find)a hobbitish term for the midwinter festivities, although it extended out through Gondor and Rohan as well. Faramir was a very young child when Finduilas died(three, I think?*can't remember off the top of my head*)but he still remembers her Yule dancing. She loved him very much, and basically raised him on her own since Denethor pretty much ignored him. :')**

**For those wondering 'what's up with Finduilas?' here's the scoop: she was probably rather weak/sickly for most of her life, and when she married Denethor and moved to Gondor to be with him, being separated from the sea(she has elvish blood)became just too much. Weakened after birthing her two sons, Boromir and especially Faramir, she passed away cloistered in the stone city, her death tore her family apart, and she was greatly grieved throughout Gondor. **

**Thanks for reading, have a good one, and please review! :D**


	72. Hobby:Feanor and Fingolfin

**Hobby**

Feanaro carefully balanced each pinecone on top of one another with painstaking effort, holding his breath as each one swayed slightly with each gentle breath of wind.

"What a stupid hobby!" a very tiny Nolofinwe exclaimed suddenly, smiling impishly as Feanaro jumped nearly a foot in the air, his barely balancing structure jumping along with him as his knees slammed onto the bottom of the table he was working at.

"Nolofinwe," he ground out shakily once he had gotten his wits about him and made sure his masterpiece was safe, "how many times must I tell you? When-"

"-Feanaro is working, he does not want to be disturbed." Nolofinwe interrupted, repeating the words he had heard so many times before in a sarcastic monotone.

"Yes, Nolo; I am quite busy with this 'hobby', as you call it, although I would prefer the term 'artistic refreshment'-"

"Whatever you call it," decided Nolofinwe, leaning forward with interest so that his nose was barely an inch away from the precariously balanced structure, "it sure is dumb-looking. Just imagine what all those stuck-up courtiers and lords would think of noble, impressive, skilled prince Feanaro if they saw this." he snickered, nose hovering more dangerously near with every word.

"Do be careful, Nolo! If you breathe too heavy, it might collapse, and then there'd be no more nice-elder-half-brother-Feanaro." he warned, hands clenching his work-apron in annoyance at Nolofinwe's words.

"You mean like this?" the little boy asked eagerly, blowing gently on the structure as if extinguishing a candle.

"Ai! Now you've done it, you little brat!" Feanaro cried furiously as his masterpiece collapsed into a pile of pinecones before his eyes, wringing his hands in disbelief.

"Help, Amme, Feanaro's getting really scary again!" he shrieked, half-excited and half-terrified, giggling madly as he sprinted out between his elder brother's legs, Feanaro skidding out behind him with pinecone missiles ready to throw.

**Amme-mommy (in Quenya)**

**Feanaro-Feanor**

**Nolofinwe/Nolo-Fingolfin**

**lol, what is Feanor even gonna do with the balanced pinecone structures when he's done? How will he even transport them...lol I can just imagine them out pine-cone gathering...**

**Feanaro: "Now, observe closely, Nolo, gathering the raw materials is a delicate art-"**

**Nolofinwe: "You mean picking up pinecones?"**

**Feanaro: "No, I mean 'gathering the raw materials'." **

***facepalm***

**Just in case you were wondering, Feanor is a young adult by elvish standards and Nolofinwe a small child in this story.**

**Thanks for reading!(reviews are always welcome) And of course, have a perfectly lovely day. **


	73. Harbor:On Gil-galad and Cirdan

**Harbor**

Gil-galad watched the ships come in, one by one; he watched the faces of the people on them-some happy, some sad, and some just tired.

"Come on, Ereinion, you shall certainly catch a chill out here on the dock in all this sea air." his mother called, raising her eyebrows reproachfully at the boy as she re-balanced the jug on her hip.

"Please do not call me that, Nana, and I will not catch a chill." he replied quietly but firmly, wondering what his sister was doing now, in Nargothrond, cloistered in caves while he roamed free across the endless shore.

"That is what you always say, and yet I am usually right." she sighed, shaking her head at him; but she let him stay there, standing tall and strong on the pier in the fading light, and she watched silently as Cirdan approached him in his comforting, understanding way, a tear sliding down her cheek as he took her son's hand in his own. Gil-galad submitted like a little child to the old Elf, allowing himself to be led away from the harbor and back to the house he was beginning to call a home.

**Ereinion-Scion of Kings, Gil-galad's epesse. **

**Nana-mommy/mom in Sindarin**

**Gil-galad was sent with his mother by his father Orodreth in Nargothrond away to the havens of Cirdan, who watched over him until he was ready to come into his own. The sister mentioned is none other than Finduilas-yes, the princess of Nargothrond in the Tale of Turin. She stayed in Nargothrond with her father when the family was ****separated, and Gil-galad would never have been able to see her again. :(**

**Poor Gil...**

**Anyway, I think this'll be it for now, so see you guys later! I hope you enjoyed, please review, and have a fabulous day! :D**


	74. Painting:In Tol Galen

**Painting**

"Do one of me! Me!" Elured shrieked excitedly, bouncing with childish glee as he watched Beren's brush in his aged hand, up and down in careful strokes.

"You've already had one, dear, be patient." Nimloth sighed as Luthien's nimble fingers combed through the younger elleth's feathery, silky hair. It was the sheen of the moon.

Elured pulled himself away regretfully before bounding over to his mother, enthusiasm renewed as he touched the wispy white tips of her hair with reverence.

"You look like a swan." his brother spoke softly, joining Elured before their small mother, clasping the young prince's pale hand in his own.

"Yes," he agreed, cocking his head, "she does."

Beren grumbled in mock irritation as Dior sneezed, breaking his elegant pose. The robes draped about him to look so effortless just a moment ago slipped and became sloppy, and he almost dropped the delicate vase of blown glass so precariously balanced on an arm.

Nimloth snickered at him from where her hair was being carefully undone from the ornate braids it had sat in for her portrait, and Dior grinned.

Beren chuckled at his son, thoughtfully re-positioning him before going back to add the finishing touches to his painting, laying it beside the others to dry.

They had all done portraits of each other that day, and even without the signatures, the artist of each was clear.

Luthien painted in the colors of the sea at night, smooth, powerful strokes from a round-tipped brush.

Beren's paintings centered on sunlight, firelight. Bright, dusty hues. His strokes were thick and tangible and imperfect and real.

Dior's paintings were laughing. They were broad smiles and crinkled, sparkling eyes.

Nimloth mixed too much water with her paint. Her's were reflections in a puddle, murky dreams barely there, colors bleeding into one another.

Elured's had character, Elurin's were solemn. Both of their subjects sat in the snow. Neither of them knew why.

Little Elwing's was smudges and messy shapes and a blue hand print.

She gurgled happily, reaching out for her mother, who took her lovingly in her arms.

"You are both birds," Elurin murmured, petting the baby's hair, soft and wispy as her mother's, "but Elwing's feathers are darker. Perhaps one day they will be white, like yours. White and shining."

**For Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl. :D I hope you enjoyed!**

**So ok guys, I have no excuses. I know, I've been off ffn for, like, two months. I'm really sorry. No, I didn't become deathly ill, or have a family crisis, or lose my job, or have a baby, or move, or die. No excuses. I fell off the fanfiction bandwagon, but today, I'm yanking myself back on. Expect more stories today. I _did_ write a novel and was pretty busy and had other writing stuff going on, but still, not a valid excuse. Again, I'm sorry, and I hope nobody was worried that something happened to me. DX**

**Happy Holidays, everyone! I hope you all have a great holiday season, and a happy New Year!**

**:D**


End file.
